old month.
narrow man.
sweaty pillow.
sallow rhombus sleeving cell.
swollen moon through window.
spidered refractions.
twinned bouquet of white.
ticking trapped in gritted teeth.
rustling leaves
stillness retracted.
a puff of dust:
single flower
supine on the flags.
time used to sweat.
time used to shed.
attempts at memory
vague imprints of a dream.
too many days.
too many nights.
too much remembrance
to grasp a full sphere
but mornlight will hang
that single divergence
that single offense:
a deathless token
on a nameless pendant.
sunlight projection
across a bare chest.
the time has come.
the time has come.
Brian Edward Bahr lives in the woods of Northern Minnesota with his cat Yuki. Check out his other works here.
© 2009, Brian Edward Bahr
Halfway Down the Stairs 