Clenched stomachs send waves whispering words
Birds seek flight as last drops of whiskey takes their time to find rest
The bottom of a clear glass covered in fog, waiting for an epiphany
Yet light refracts, distorting plain sight
Questions asked and answered, both uttered to and from the same lips
A conversation between one, sometimes an argument ensues
Hoping to make peace in time for birds to return
And glasses of whiskey poured once again
At first glance
I am where I’m suppose to be
Yet inside my soul is decanting
Some drops lost in the process
Foundations of sand become tiresome
How do I stand
I’ve stayed when I know I should have left
Falling slowly, hurting, lost
Blind ears digest shadowed words
Phrases follow footsteps, leaving trails of imprints in its wake
Confessions unravel, tangled currents intertwine below the surface
Solace found at sunrise, between layers of oranges stacked upon greys
Erasure’s tranquil hymns sung softly in my ear
Circles with sharp edges
Catch me as I slide down cloud walls
They stop me short of the cliff’s open grin
An invisible life line separates colors from white space
A gentle descent, silent release
As willows sway with the wind
Needles scribble incoherent scripts
As tremor’s vibrations lift the baton
An orchestration begins
A conduction of surges play
Silent of sound, but not of affect
Crescendos reach their peak
Eventually intensities subside
Ending adrift in a sea of calm
It’s not what is said, but the tone of voice
The fog of innuendo painting fragments
Mouthing words of solace and confusion in the same breath
Leaving wonder in its wake
Springtime
Trickles down from high altitudes
White turns blue, blue to clear
Transparent drops divulge more than I wish
On my sleeve they roll without mapped destinations
I am it, it is me
Embracing rain, leaves me drenched, cleansed yet a bit uncomfortable
Acceptance, not easy, a long road
Puddles collect, reflections emerge
Tomorrows not to be feared
Guilty quiet empty roads, simmering off the grid
Distant parched vistas, pale warnings of tomorrow’s fears
Reflections off mirages return my gaze, real or not, the feelings are the same
Brushing my hand back and forth, they disappear, but cling to my thoughts wherever I go
Fine lines and secret chords
Windmills sing untold stories
Midsummer’s eve listens, not wanting tomorrow to come
Northern waters carry me home
Weather vanes standing silently
Pointing, my eyes follow their gaze
Winding roads disappearing over the horizon, searching
A tugging feeling, yet my feet remaining silent for now
Sudden gusts of wind, ricocheting whirlwinds
Brewing storms, surrounding only my space
Never a right time to step out on a ledge, taking chances
But the calling never so deep
A time to leave, a time to go
Not an ending, a beginning to take place
Lifting the veil, brushing the clouds
Leaving the shroud where it lay
Mat Aru Poetry 