ph.old

I have carried its death for nine months. Now I birth it. Through her eyes verbs were only ever passive; what we call improvisation Paxton knows is not contact, but unperceived imposition.

mid-June. from the in-between
she discarded first the dried & the drying.
for her prosceniumed floors
there was nothing to leave behind.

gestation could hold the dark between closure
and resignation. then,
the moon had turned blue for us,
wiping its crystal residue across my chest

so when i’d left the studio
the dim had retained its heavy, leaving one emergency
light the honey chassé
of a sole.

without sound now i will shut pastels.
our dances were always waltzes for
one, feet remembering the back and
forth, & in that,
our backs speaking too.

without sound now i will shut without now i shut now will without
i know now –
outside there are rows of rooms to create,
and while she will never hear, i will…
my harlequin heart will always hold a
space in which we still fly low

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “ph.old

please say something

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s