Illimitable

November 29, 2011 § 2 Comments

Bouncing off the walls of this topography,
the reverberation of emotion returns in equal 
parts of sadness and spiritual emancipation.
The echoes harmonize with the truth 
floating on the winds like sands and
ebb with the tides like droplets of water.

What’s another year of tears, 
I ask. 
Replies the ghost in the mirror,
nothing. Just a tad bit more salt water

to add to the universe.

I wait, wait for the potholes to dry 
up in this desert that is me.
Once, I opened up and found I was vast, 
depths unknown even to myself
and my soils dirtied the soles that 
crossed this earth of canyons, buttes, and washes.
Expectation planted the seeds of distance
and indifference. But instead, the growth of 
passion and understanding erased the lines 
that define, creating confusion in what is and 
what is not, leaving the wanderer lost,

with no compass, with no map.

What should I do with my thirst,
I ask.
Replies the ghost in the mirror,
drink, drink the mirage, pay no heed to the grit 
in your mouth, drink as you drank me.

Seasonless, only winds are left to change this
wasteland that lacks all civilization. Grief tumbles 
like dried and loosened Russian thistle. Left behind in 
its own tracks are thorns that prick and puncture skin.
This without leaves sands restless and ever changing,
pock marking fragile surfaces, leaving one’s sight
cloudy and weak in clarity.

The fierceness of heat makes glass if treated as a
tradesman’s craft, blown into shapes that stir beauty,
until it is dropped.

And when the sun’s heat has dried and cracked this carapace,
I ask.
Replies the ghost in the mirror,
bleed.

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