In which Silence Commands Space
What weakness is this?
The Past is an Unrecognised Dream
After Primo told me how to feel
Between Leaving and Going
Phone Calls on Mountains
Have we become the flailing fish?
The Poetics of Self-Help, published in IAAC
Empty Room, It's Kind of Hard to Explain: Deep Dive
THE PAST IS AN UNRECOGNISED DREAM
Is this our most authentic voice?
The birds’ songs resonating once more,
Born twice, their love reborn,
the simple bay tree coveted the nest
where they rest, in exile of our view
and beyond the echo of my voice.
For apart from the voice and the faint
Sound of our breath there is no sound.
None at least that we can hear.
This we can tell by the faint sound
Of our breath, reacting to the tenderness
of your skin. The hairs broken from
tiredness, excited by this ephemerality
our whispers the silent bond
between us and the trees, and the
grass on which we lay our heads once.
Now the sand that our feet mark
at the first moment
of this day. Slipping through
the single solitudes of sentences
constructed as wires to wrap around our
home, in which we drowned, as an
old rhetoric returned, reuniting us
with the sensation of this outsideness,
this in-between, between here and there.
I returned to your noises
your grunts and your fears;
the nuances of a dream.
Not my first dream, and not your dream
in which you thought of food, and the sun
but the dream which never ends,
in which you run, and hide, and run.
As the eyes dance through a swill of imagery
underneath lights of unknown colours
As the eyes remain focused forward
while trains carried us into safety,
flickering like the fluidity of fishes wallowing upstream
in hope of the fountain from which we came.
All rights reserved Joshua Leon