tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8555114521624356230.post-54895735106770810592007-11-28T20:57:00.000-08:002007-11-28T21:00:26.043-08:00The colour came later, <br />Past the dark cluttered words.<br /><br />Tonight we spoke like a frequency graph,<br />Like a landscape without edges,<br />Extruded strokes of light to my lips like fingers<br />stretching through the architecture of your words.<br />To cocoon the sounds in my ear longer<br /><br />I scavenge images to furnish this room <br />that holds you in sprawling pieces<br />with feathered edges that overlap and repel.<br />I smear the walls with my tender vision.<br /><br />This passage doesn’t permit complexity.<br />A blocked aperture half-closed<br />by the debris left by a fragment fallen<br />from the frozen eye of the storm.<br />It obstructs my view of your dislocation.<br /><br />Someone coughs in the background.<br />Your voice lowers to a soft tendril,<br />I hear your body turn in your sheets<br />As you describe the darkness <br />that stares back at you.<br /><br />In these implicit movements I accrue<br />the inescapable graduation of weightless light<br />that reaches from me to you under a heavy winter.<br /><br />Colour will slide in the morning<br />over the outline of your refuge.<br />(like an unfinished house)<br />Like music climbs through those sounds.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8555114521624356230-5489573510677081059?l=www.littleglasspen.com'/></div>Amanda Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01630905497211235099amanda@littleglasspen.com6