ocean

we are not good at goodbyes.
perhaps it's because we believe
that nobody can disappear anymore.
with fewer full-stop moments
motion begets mindset belies connection.
like when we force
our parting words
around each other,
each needing to be the last one heard
and first one turning away,
we then pass out of doors
and through space
without much witness.
we used to do better.
our words could armour souls,
illuminate minds,
and buttress courage with hope.
we knew
without being told
that a short voyage away from us
could mean forever
or never coming back.
so we offered ‘god be with you’
or we’d say ‘go with god’
or even ‘with god’
but now
we nod
just above gracelessness,
if we even offer a goodbye.
we used to charge god
with protector and co traveller
as defense against the world's imagination.
but our minds,
like the world,
became filled with concrete things
and it felt strange and oddly mystical
to need blessings
against the unknown of everything,
anymore.
our curated knowledge,
piled up in silo'd spaces,
shielded us from a seismic shift -
no one falls off the edge of
the earth these days
because the rounding horizon always
seems to lead them back to you.
and we rely on that.
everytime we say 'see ya',
a binary star of understated
black matter implodes
around the moment
and what makes us humane
becomes oversimplified,
commodified to the point that
relationships only can exist in plain view.
close a door light goes out.
open a door light goes on.
despite the truth
that the light we see
may have travelled
thousands of years to reach us.
that casual nod
without any ephemeral fog
of the hope
that should so deeply run through our networks,
creates a wide spread
fractured mess of relations.
some people we like,
others we quote,
a handful we actually
hold hands with.
and the trouble we face
is that when language
no longer has union with function,
and it becomes only fashionable
to wear relationships
like red carpet clothing,
and when we offer
vague bookends
to our comings and goings -
then what are we really offering each other?
can i offer a thought?
that this is one possible vanguard of
a world beginning to lose its meaning,
a world that cannot be lived in,
only through.

no clock here

minutes passed to hours
moments became ours
 
where yours and mine
released 
into us.
 
[breathe]
 
we
made light fill our minds
moved through space
and time
and 
found sacred spaces
 
secret places
 
hiding in plain view.
 
[breathe]
 
all the while in this
we
made long lines
of life and limb
and seem
to be
reaching to imagined skies
 
fingertips blazing
self erasing
and bending
in animal pantomimes,
we offered our best
 
and worst
 
to our adopted spirits.
 
[breathe]
 
drawing fingers opened wide
reaching for that hanging
sigh –
and found
a very
sweet breath.
and breathe we did.
 
[breathe]
 
finding harmony within us
and between us
 
where namaste waited for us
to accept the offering
that felt so new
and yet so familiar.
 
flowing,
flowering, 
greeted,
and grateful
 
[breathe]
 
head bowed down
a sated soul
in awe
and
in honour
 
heels planted like
oak roots and
ass to the sky.
wow this hurts.
 
and
such a strange salute
to the universe
but damn
it feels good too.
 
now we accept
we are fractured
and fictional
and factioned
 
yet 
inactioned
still
we find focus,
in the breathing.
 
on this emotion,
in the breathing.
 
on that sick relative.
in the breathing.
 
on that random guy over there.
in. the. breathing.
 
[breathe]
 
my gods.
what time is it?
 
a prescient metaphor
similar to a door
likened to so
much more –
its cruelly imprecise.
 
I know what time it is.
 
we know
and though
the time has come,
 
we leave in slow motion.
caught in the gravity of memory
and notion
that we must
keep breathing
keep seeing
 
and
 
as the door opens
and light speed life
taunts us,
disses us,
I offer this,
 
there is no clock here.
 
wonder will
expand
and expect
a willing child
to follow
 
so we do
because
we will
be
and 
we are
 
all
wonder full.
 
[breathe]

 

sharp things like change and goodbyes

I don't want it he said.
     I know she said.
Its too heavy to carry.
     I remember.
And it hurts everytime, 
everytime I try it on.
     Its like that at first. 
     Move around. 
     Sometimes it stretches.
But I don’t want it.
     I know.  
     But you will.