Tag Archives: change

~wingspan

there are birds inside the wall

listen
to the rhythm of feathers flapping
like rumors of small hollow bodies
and their desperate chirping need
to be free

I can’t unbutton the drywall
or paint it a bold color of
escape

but I try to explain that I’m
addicted to a certain kind of
sad
and maybe we all hide behind
the same corner

if this were elsewhere
a different canvas, a different life
we could fly together
experience the rain
and become intimate with
the outside storm

as if there never was a wall
after all

lah  6.18.12 ©®

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~secondhand

i.
once we were a melody

a slow string of harmonic words
abundant sentences
like flowers in spring

our syllables moved wind
to wheat

ii.
mathematically, forgiveness is
a top-heavy relationship
fraction

and in the sum of reduction
one becomes whole
while the other, a remainder

iii.
I have assumed the shape of water
of air

in a cloud
or a balloon

I must be poetry
I am fluid

the slow blue leak of
sky or sea or hope

I believe it’s a sign
maybe a malignancy
a cancer

iv.
heavy is this lifetime that
rains snow
each day colder than the last
but predictable
the way it falls with certainty
and purpose

and I feel compelled
to cut up the whiteness
like cocaine
and fill sinuses with misery
or all the color of pocket-stains

v.
and then
yellow streamed through my window
slanted, sideways

but I am disabled

numb and broken-winged
before the open sun

lah  6.15.12 ©®

~caliginous

night is never
dark enough
to hide the ghost
we know must
be our breath
or the footsteps
of the ghost
we know must
live here carved
out of water
spilling from
our hearts
night is only
the gossip of
hollow bones
the gossip of
ghosts that
become the body
bent in prayer
bent in sin
much farther
than close
waiting for
small deaths
of small moments
night is never
dark enough
to listen to
our own echoes
the thinning
of a voice
like the whisper
that follows a
shadow or the
vowels lost in
a forgotten sky
half-uttered
suspended in ink

lah 2.15.17 ©®

~observations on similarities

there is symbolism
in unspoken words
an assonance in
a crow’s cries
& the winter wind
lah 4.24.16 ©®

~knowing

hush the long
mouth
confession is
a season behind
a river of saltwater
through a still house
a fragile disarray of
veins, heavy with poetry
in a sky colored with ink
tender sways the pendulum
redivides a woman
furnishes her wind
there is no metaphor
to unravel

lah. 5.1.16 ©®

~afterword

this, I’ve learned from the quiet
from the breathing
in rooms where rain won’t reach
in a house built from sheets
of paper
a voice escapes the keyhole
& imagination follows
dismantling daylight & darkness
a calamity of strangled language
& thundering hoofbeats
stirring dust bottled in bluedark
veins
like inkstains of fine wine
if it is born of fire or water or air
it must be poetry
searching for the curve of
a listening ear

lah. 5.12.16 ©®

~unsheltered

I can’t translate
the meaning
of how it feels

there is no noun
for that

in slow months of blues
I am evergreen

a desolate tree, pining
its needles, until they
lodge in the throat
like unspoken
verbs

I am sentenced to
the pressure of
holding still

planking flesh to bone

poems pressed into
the softened cartilage of
this heartcage

the hardwood beneath
comforts me
reminds me I can’t
fall any farther

lah 5.19.16 ©®

~without shadows

I know I’ve loved you before

you were the perfect taste
bodied in dandelions
in the late summer air
you smuggled sunrise
to the moon’s other side
I know I’ve loved you before

& I was strong in the stillness
in bare fields of winter’s solstice
too naked to be cold
your voice wandered through me
the echo of our footprints
shame this darkness for what grief
brings the heart
blame its changing beat, bearing the weight
one last breath, just shy of memory
I know if I loved you then, I’ll love you
forever
& if forever is a lonely room
I’ll stand in that space you left
waiting

lah 1.18.17 ©®

~recollections

black fades from its own fullness

extinguishes the nightlight
undressing trees from their
truest colors

stars are orphaned by
the wakening day
cloudbanks break for
a larger sun

notice as an aged fall flower
straightens her crooked spine
startles the grazing white-tailed deer
to run with the wildwater

it seems the air is colder here
just before the light
as if the warmth was somehow
left behind
a dozen years long

forgotten to the fields
like the secret language of butterflies
By Lori Hamilton, © 2015, All rights reserved.

~understanding the ramifications of indiscretion

x.
sometimes everything is missing
something
xx.
perhaps night is weak

always falling

even the moon slides away to
soft edges of darkness
xxx.
in the cold awakening
another tired day scatters sunlight
on the susquehanna

old river, relaxed
against colloquial curves

a peculiar musky scent slips the water
unaware

a red-tailed hawk in flight
talons tear through the blue
iv.
sometimes anything is something
v.
the soul is fashioned from
versed incantations
and dots of color
deeper than the self

a simile of purge and cleanse
like benediction after sin
vi.
an aging ash outgrows its roots
what was will cease to be
this slow demise of fading leaves
the consequences to the tree
vii.
sometimes something that’s everything
is nothing at all
By Lori Hamilton, © 2015, All rights reserved.