June 11, 2014

Aria of Was by Chris Crittenden

leaves like fading fiery palms
melt through long goodbyes.

if only lovers exited as well--
and yet we cling on
with the audacity of tombs.

but we cannot kiss again,
no chisel to extend the warmth of our lips--
even if a pyramid remembers us
and our faces chance to rise
on a canvas of weeping sands.

rain knows to ripple
into a swollen oceanwide song;
and you and i also rippled together,
blending breath and ribs. 

but ours was a music alone,
a pas de deux of sealed storms.
what caskets store in their cold breasts
our unity has already destroyed.

Chris Crittenden writes from a tiny fishing village, fifty miles from the nearest traffic light.  He teaches ethics for the University of Maine, blogs as Owl Who Laughs, and is a Teaching Artist at the Poetry Coop.

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