The Curvature of Water

And here, in the kingdom of clouds,
vast continents of mist
dwarf the mountains,
lumber lightly
in from the ocean,
float improbably, silently.
They sometimes, when the air is cold,
leak acres of crystal
in the high wilderness of fir and grizzly,
burying the trees and crags of the
inaccessible mystery in white.

And here, over the empire of emeralds,
they sweep and swell and
break apart and spill out
mighty rivers and silver lakes,
wash the air clean and
sift down through my willow tree,
bit by drop, sink from sight and
hurry to refill the ocean.

THE BLACK HOLE

 

It’s a black hole.

Inconspicuous,

yet there.

pulling you in

away from the Universe,

weighing you down

into a spiraling emptiness,

Walls, of Cone

Walls
Of conical homes
We call life

Walls
We slide upon
By gentle breeze of reason
Towards each other

tripping up the stairs

There comes a time
when gravity yanks you down
and just tells you
to stop
and look.
I didn’t mean to stay
so long,
but the cold granite floor
felt more like home,
and the windows
pained to see me
standing tall.
I couldn’t resist
looking back,
and I think that’s when
the walls started
getting annoyed.

The Persistence of Gravity

i.
There is something ravenous
in the stars
pinned to gossamer curtains
draped across the sky,
it is similar to drowning.
Or more like falling
into wooden arms,
hollow and unfamiliar.

ii.
Craft me a world
where the byproduct of dreams
are happy consequences
of your braided embrace.
Where braille intensifies
the deep rivets
of your remorse.