before falling off

he takes hairs
off the keyboard
one at a time...
grey, crinkled like wire
but soft so they hardly rise to his fingers
one at a time.

he looks into her eyes
what eyes?
there’s nobody there –
just the white computer screen
blackened with lines of silent thought.

he looks into her eyes,
as I was saying,
in his mind’s eye:
they are grey; they look blue in the setting light;
they are red and furious in their passion.

for the moon is a-jangle --
the ocean a stick of drift wood --
the afternoon...as warm as a memory.

it won’t come back:
it is a wand,
a candle, a greeting from an owl,
a wish left unspoken
before it goes dark.

he’ll take a string,
a rabbit in the cage
set free so it won’t die from love.
he’ll ask for silence
at the end of the day,
a whisper from nowhere,

a row of letters --
q w e r t y u i o p --
before he’ll turn out the light.

Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 02/01/2012 08:27PM by petersz.

Another poem I missed on its first posting. I like this one, nicely done, Pete.

Les

Thanks for reviving this, Les. I sent it off tonight to part of my email list, since I kind of like it myself from this distance from February 01, 2012 04:23PM.

amo et avanti,

Peter