The Absence of Wavelength

Then, You Rest

I Wake To Rest

I wake with numb sensations that make me wonder
if I might be alive
if I might rise, hover over carpet,
dully view out nose-print pane of memory
scenes,
if I might go to recollections after thoughts
I might be move through a frame
slightly larger than the necessary size,
if I might
wander on worn hall carpet
position to see larger frames
with inset glass tempered
with just the right scenes
where life witnessed grand,
if I might
see a view of the street
should I float down past
suspended images on walls of their likenesses
if I might
make it to the landing
open vista to anywhere
that I might imagine a horizon that day
seek warmth from sun up to set
without a regret
yet
I linger
inhabit a world
I claimed, but not mine
where I’ve laid to rest many years
skin-crimp this wrist, twist red, redder,
again and again
hope hoping
put on spectacles to see sights of all that remains
in these shadows,
where I’ve communed in silent illumination,
also wondering,
if this is my story post death.

I would send post cards from the grave if I could.
This one’s for you. Sorry I’m not there to see you open.


12.9.24
39 lines
She stumbled over skin-crimp, as I didn’t want a tired expression for pinch…still working on?