Oil on water
Slick as the night
As the morning tries to wash
The darkness from your face
It clings with the desperate fervor
Of child to mother
As a hand slides from the grasp
Of one person
To another
And is gone
This strange moment of fluidity
As worlds barely touching
Eyes barely meeting
Only to glance away
Converge
Only to float silently away
It is there, wrapped in this
Tight tourniquet of fog
That holds us closer
Than a final embrace
Between to people who know
They will never meet again
The moment before all is lost
Standing at the edge of this precipice
Solitary in this mist
Permeable yet dividing
I am lost
Left behind by that evanescent flicker
Of worlds stopping for a brief moment
Reaching out to one another
Knowing there is reason to stand still
But feeling the push and pull
Of a world that never knows how to stop
This winding of a clock
The count
Of one, two, three, four
Finds its way of rhyme
Even as the world begins to slide
Here I am still standing
Not knowing the words to say
Not knowing how to scream
I stand in this silent emptiness
Watching you recede from me

Tags: clock, fog, glance, meeting, separation, touch

This entry was posted on Thursday, March 22nd, 2012 at 10:55 pm and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.