why won'ot blogg fit on my screen

sanwiched between the virgin
and the scorpion, i am the skales.
let them fall from your eyes


I miss my breath made visible.


on the balcony he says to me what
do you really look like? i can only
see the you in front of me.

then that's what i look like.
we only exist thru other. i have no idea
so tell me:
what does the back of my head look like;
my unmirrored eyes?


what about snapshots? do you look like them?
people tell me i do. they tell me i don't.
but a piece of time was captured, it's
you that decides
the relativity of red
wavelengths. even the meter must be calibrated
against an arbitrary perfection.

must learn to use the arrows.

he seems satisfied. but then
i think you must have a different body
you put on when no one's there


at seven,
she tried to pull
mine off when i had to say
no, this is me. now. this is what
i have become.

change is something
we do not see when we are in it
from the time i could reason
till the time i suddenly realised she was
old
my mother's mother never changed.

even in pictures, her hair white
purses around smiling lips
pill box hatted, gloved
stasis of small town america.

she began to pack up her house
give away her memories. yellow
handkerchief, embroidered with navy
wife, waves from the pier in san
francisco. she's travelled by train
with her infant daughter from texas
to now, to see her husband off
to war. he may never
come back. she loves him anyway.
the trip took a week. standbys for the troops
hustling to rendezvous with their dark
lover, splashes of red underwritten
across cheeks, peached fuzzy against the smeared
windows then leaning out to catch the last
glimpse of her on the platform, a cliche
in the making, sun strikes in gashes
across faces, making it all impossibly beautiful
and desirous. come back home safe! i love you.
navy wife.
watches the ship from the pier's
edge, wives not allowed on military ground
her arm moves on its own arc,
wide pendulum clutching sun's breath
against a foreboding sea.
a bauble lost on a receeding shore.
how do you survive? you do what you must.
do you survive? only
if you have something
to live for. hope is the reason.
why not say it outloud. if you don't have it
then nothing is worthy
of you



so then you go to it.















***





in each of us is the potential
to love the other in all its forms.
soul mates are the myth of sisyphus
i love how that rhymes.



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