a camera on a tripod points at me so i think thoughts about my soul and its tin-cup rattling desire for…escape?

my father sat silently
in a chair, mostly. mostly
he sat silently.
sometimes
he sighed. i recall him
laughing, too.
i tried to find love with a
woman who told me,
“your desire to find
things causes them to
disappear”. she said this
as she slowly fled.

in a torrent of words i
denude myself,
bringing focus to
a wavering,
my outline.

is anything still?

if we look closely,
isn’t everything humming
itself to blur?

it isn’t quiet in this
temporary home, no,
there is rain
on the roof and hot breath
in the hidden bellows.

a warm sigh as it escapes.

my father, long ago
found his escape. i am
left with the sing of slap,
the fade away jumper of laugh.
the warmth of cooling sigh.

my mother brings me a
blueberry tart
as a way to express her
love.
i recently read a study
that places heavy blame
on sugar and
refined carbohydrates,
their enthusiasm for stopping
up a heart, blowing out a
vessel. silently.
i open the container
intending only a sample
of blueberry tart’s crust.

i cannot stop.

i am left with
vague warmth in an
empty container. my father
had a heart that beat until
it didn’t. one day he was
in his sighing chair, maybe
chuckling chair, the next
his heart instructed him;
stop.

i am unaware of
the seasonality of
my own natural body.

is this my Fall?
outside it is
February rain and
slush.

were i a tree, i would
trumpet my humming
leaves, i would
declare and exclaim until
left bare. i
would know my
season. i would shake
until it was time
to stop.

wind bothers
a fallen leaf, pushing
it along and then
wandering off.
the leaf mutters
as it watches the wind
leave, its edges
wavering, quieting
to a stop.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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