The sun sets

The way we flock to the shoreline
for the small chance
to catch a green flash
between blinks

-is the same
as knowing the sun will set
and yet
it will only get dark.

It reminded me
of this Red Sea
swelling and sinking
between you and me
making that rosy glow
more ominous
than optimistic.

We keep a trained eye
on each other
from our respective
ground
unable to make out details
like friend or foe,

you just know
outlines
the bend of the horizon
and how the melting shadows
run together.

The way we hope
and take chances
for a ride,
reminds me
of the underlying breeze
caused by our spinning worlds
neither pushing nor pulling
but settles
for warm bodies watching
until The End.



Painting by James Richard Marquis (1833-1855), 'Man o War and buoy at sunset' in  Public domain.

Gesture

It is the same way we see heat
emanation, only by the rippling
of reality,
an oasis awaits further down the road.

Despite the distance we cover,
no matter how we adjust our focus
crisp lines singe into smoke
relaxing
feeling and senses
a source.

Desire is emanated
from the soul to the eye
that traces the shapeliness of
bodies around
a naked blur
which softly invites a gaze.

The way wind is welcome
where still
waiting for change
of pace moves no bodies
weighted with apathy.

The world spins, arrows fly,
hope floats, love kills, babies die,
the decrepit are reborn, the gates are locked,
gravity suspends its permanence
for a second
witness.

See how it feels...

Arid and parched
a body becomes
never reaching
for what cannot be held.



Image taken in Death Valley taken August 1982 by Roger 469 in Public Domain. 

a disenchantment of nearsightedness

We searched
each other.
Diving in
with our whole soul,
unafraid of the brackish waters,
darkness, mirth or depth
of each other's eyes

Seeking what we had
lost, once had, where did
we put it, over there, outside,
ourselves, and with the things
that keep us
apart,

Spinning wheels in alternating
rotations, going nowhere fast,
or beating our chests like hearts
and pinching nerves to make a
sound come out...

Oh No.
There were so many ways to say,
I see where you are going,
you are getting smaller
as you travel
away.


Painting by Lionel Constable c. between 1849-55, Yale Center for British Art [Public domain].

Terminal Velocity

My toes point to that familiar path
over which I tread the same very way
without thought, after days, after days
ground-soft
                               only it doesn't end.
The terminus dissipates before me
the exit escapes
itself

fracturing new matter,
atoms posing in new positions,
the frames along the long hall
                                        rattle and
all fall, shattering into
collage.

I have moved on and on
and recognize how the light changes
just enough to see
this
step
through and parallel time
at equal velocities and thus
all must be still-

transported. This is how
I can be carried along
in this metropolitan body,
incentivized, yet
                    infested with crime,
corrupt with ego, more so
hiding in skin
I was entrusted to always protect-
                                        but don't.

Animal eyes see me
burrow in my bi-pedestal body
and hear my heart beat itself and
echo through my unshod feet-
yet I do not run,
                                   I carry on,
erect, by these same narrow walls
plastered shells, caves or caverns
alternating distances passed
by vision and memory
                                        alone,
                                   barefoot,
weary but walking on and on
this way
toward the vanishing point.

Photograph By PCR Services Corporation, creator [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Thirteen billion miles

First, ask yourself-
is it interesting
or worth further exploration?

Truly we are Voyagers.
This generation of seekers
has reignited
a flame.

Now, put a price tag on 'Time'
or light years-
A full moment is three seconds
or pennies in hypotheses-
how much Life
you are allotted in diurnal
years of Julian speed,
minus eleven minutes
and some fragmented seconds
may be written
in a single sentence.

Told we should learn
to figure things out for ourselves,
memorize how to hibernate
for the future.
And it is wise advice
for one and all solid bodies
traveling through space
at this terminal velocity.

I wonder if gravity waves
make white noise as they ripple
or only when they crash...

Some say,
Exile is a death, a geographical terminus.
Knowing one's history is written
over, like footprints and
now traveling under someone else's shoe.

But if I have something endless
enough to keep me fully
occupied;
a tree, a rock, water, or the sky-
time does flutter a lot
like Hope.

At last,
I ask myself,
after every sentence has been read,
is this an interesting enough
equation to try
to solve?




Photo By NASA [Public domain], 'Farouk El-Baz, Ronald Evans and Robert Ovemyer via Wikimedia Commons.


NASA reported on December 1st, 2017 that the rocket thrusters on the space probe Voyager 1 responded 13 billion miles away in interstellar space.

Two ships atop the sea

Far is relative to center

the mid-hole

from which we pivot

against the magnet that repels us.

Hang on-

filaments frayed figure eights,

the vapor traced apparitions

by degrees, the skin tightens.

Drawn toward

warm is closing in on sought,

locating by looking, two palms burn

like wicks awash in golden light.

Where were we? Trajectory fell

plane flat, or rock bottoms held on,

we know what happens

when we touch the spinning Top. 

Painting by Émile Vernon [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Scapeland

Limited by a point
in view
doesn't mean there are no
obvious clues sticking out.
We have a nose
for things
that reek
and ears to hear
when something rings true.

The horizon made crisp
by Januarys cold shoulder
brittle colors crack
under depth perception
all is in arcs
electrically
carried through thick-
space, this line is drawn
between the backdrop mountains
painted over the sky-aglow
colors like no others
demonstrating distance
with tonality.
-hummmmm-

Light blurred into white
sights set on time-lapse
of the tidal motion
we may be slow to know
the ripple can re-ripple
reacting unpredictable
but then, this happens
when we don't wave back.




Image By Rowan, Dick, Photographer (NARA record: 2406259) (U.S. National Archives and Records Administration) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Dim sum theory

Since we rely on
past tenses
what sets the precedence
for our need of future sense?
Are we simply implying
some specific inevitable
consequence of
holding substance in time,
situated precisely 

where we put it?

What is the range
that our light casts
minus the projected
angle of shadow
from where you stand?

Could you confidently predict
the oncoming speed of
karmic inflation
in the reflection
or overall direction
of impending reproach?

Should one be wary
or Leavitt alone?
Most significantly,
is the aura of this
particulate curiosity
blue or beaming red?

Perhaps we pretend
its more purple or white,
illuminating opalesce.

A pearl of galaxy.
Then, postulate that the
overarching circumference
by a slice of antimatter movement
from a darkspace pin-point
to an extrapolated lightime theory
balanced even upon a string
what then?

It seems simple, really.

Symmetrically,
ones pulse increases
the closer one comes
to their relative space
and in one meteoric mortality
contains a multiverse of many
excited parallaxes on a plane.
At least, in a singular
variant, it appeared
that way,  time after time,
relative to hindsight
or about one lifeyear away.



Image By NASA, ESA and the Hubble SM4 ERO Team [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Date taken: 15 July 2009
Description: "The (above) image reveals a small region inside the massive globular cluster Omega Centauri, which boasts nearly 10 million stars. Globular clusters, ancient swarms of stars united by gravity, are almost as old as our Milky Way galaxy. The stars in Omega Centauri are between 10 billion and 12 billion years old. The cluster lies about 16 000 light-years from Earth."