Seashell

Night shuts you down like a bird;
having spent your fragile wings
they now fold gently over your breast
in exhaustion, tiny mouth closing on
your endless barrage of words
that knew no form or meaning
yet pierced the entire length of day

now you sleep, curled protectively
in your own small world.
I can do nothing but watch your tiny chest
rise and fall as the tide
with the breath of your being
and innocence

I cup my ear to the silence--
to your in- and exhalation
and can almost hear the pulse and hiss
of the ocean as it swells, rises,
and gently breaks upon the shore
of our simple existence

 

 

Seeing you again

It's like the part that got cut--
the pad of my finger that got sliced;
the way the flesh separates
whenever I try to point at the future,
at a distraction,
still waiting for it to heal
for it to close
and the worst part is when I forget
to bandage it before I shower and
the water hits it and makes it sting like
hell.

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