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Grace and Pear Blossoms

Poem

Eyes, as deep as the sea after a raging storm rips the tide back to the sun.

Eyes. Washed out tide pools brimming with life,

Eyes. The color of aqua shimmering in the light, dancing

memorizing the lines of denim and cotton.

Lips that speak of other worlds, words slipping fervently between breaths;

lips, the color of plums, or peaches, or perhaps nectarines.

Movement --melodic and rhythmic-- movement like a wind song bending the branch limbs into position

first, second, third.

I told you once of an old man who lived on Elm Street, in a two story white house reaching for pear blossoms.

You laughed --a sweet fleeting moment-- you told me he probably wanted company, that the rafters of high ceilings might be the only contact between him and those rooms.

Skin, caramel or honey in color, reminds me of bees hovering softly over clover the way a note hangs in the air.

You said once, you went to the house on Elm, you sat on the front swing --creaking like tired bones-- and talked with the old man for hours. You said the pear blossoms fell from he avenue of trees the way snow falls; patiently reaching to kiss the ground.

Did you know that white is the absence of color?

Why then do we groan for the purity of fresh snow, the lace of a brides gown, the cumulous clouds on a clear day; perhaps because our eyes do not understand the dark.

You said once, if you were blind you would still see the world because your heart would know colors like your fingers know chords. I thought you had a beautiful soul.

Smile, crooked like a river flooding its banks; overflowing

Mind like a burning candle inflaming your every thought, thoughts, hovering like light waves.

 

You said that you listened to the old man while he talked about his youth, about a time when time seems irrelevant. You said you liked the way his hand curled around his coffee cup, as if he were holding onto a memory before letting it loose. You liked the way his aged eyes ached, as if filled with longing and secrets, with knowledge and yet desire.

 

Spirit, so fierce and kind,

your heart is that which grew wings and lept for the sky; that which born a rainbow, that which bled joy.

 

Still. Eyes. Piercing the wild blue infinity abounding oceans and graves.

 

You said you liked the way the pear blossoms fell, gracing the world with their presence; I think you grace the world this way.  

Smile, crooked like a river flooding its banks; overflowing

Mind like a burning candle inflaming your every thought, thoughts, hovering like light waves.

You said that you listened to the old man while he talked about his youth, about a time when time seems irrelevant. You said you liked the way his hand curled around his coffee cup, as if he were holding onto a memory before letting it loose. You liked the way his aged eyes ached, as if filled with longing and secrets, with knowledge and yet desire.

Spirit, so fierce and kind,

your heart is that which grew wings and lept for the sky; that which born a rainbow, that which bled joy.

Still. Eyes. Piercing the wild blue infinity abounding oceans and graves.

You said you liked the way the pear blossoms fell, gracing the world with their presence; I think you grace the world this way.  

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