Event Horizon
Ebb and flow, nothing before
the event horizon fell on me
featherlight of a hot life with ice
the collected years, misunderstood
I chose her for the hair she wore
she laughed at the things I said
an alarming way of wearing pain
and sure an odd way with words
This isn't the story of the world
told by the fire, told in the wind
but of traffic, relapse, and delusion
old habits and misremembered love
At the table sits the air I breathe
the light is provided mostly free
once gifted in a silent transit
a most urgent universe of events.
© 2015 Rob Schackne
Painting: Mark Rothko, "Blue Mark"
No comments:
Post a Comment