MysticFay

Winds caress the fields  Dancing the taraxacum in the breeze Gliding over the emerald grass Meeting the turquoise of the bay. Shadow like Buildings in the distance Fading in and out of the fog Shrouding the hustle and noise Flanked by headlands on the right. The ferry house stands derelict  Sheltering old steel beams  Waters below corrode their last memories It's former glory etched in black and white. Buoys chime a relaxing tune  As cries of seagulls serve as the chorus  Yonder ship horns hymn the bass And crashing waves sing the lead. The sun peaks from the veil of grey Bathing city and bay in silve

His voice enveloped me, and I became Myself again--I heard it in the song: A mordent on a note he held too long; A stutter in his voice. I heard my name In these and felt a happiness the same As when I saw him first. Oh, I had longed To hear him sing again, but this last song-- It was so beautiful. And it remains The best of human works, though none shall hear Its sorrowed notes; the lyre's meand'ring tune Through vast arpeggios and Death's expanse Except the dead. It will not disappear 'Till all the world's destroyed, and hell's exhumed-- Such music must be worth a backwards glance.

They danced in rows, marched in pairs, in perfect synchrony. Their uniforms and capes swished, as if all were planned- their hair flowed as if the wind blew just for them. Their perfect reflections on the marble and glass ballroom matched their angelic bodies- behind those with gaping mouths, we sniggered and laughed. Who are the real men? We scampered out the back door, laughing with our backs against the wall- shaggy clothes and tattered scarves tagging along behind us. I glanced at him- he glanced at me. His last day before he went to war- to kill the blacks, the reds, the whites, and everyone in between. I can't join him because I'm n

Two sisters, digging for a heart of gold. Inseparable. Side by side, down a cracked sidewalk on the bad side of town. Hat pulled low over their eyes, peering out from under. Only relying on each other- innumerable scars proving lessons learned. A dull streetlight shines ahead in the coming dusk- a fine light, a calling light. All they have done, all things that cannot be forgiven- not anymore. They have lost count long ago how many, but they know it's all too much. They move slowly- crossing an ocean, with only the other by her side- a heart of gold will fix everything sister. Sharp steps in tune down the dusty sidewalk, perfectly in tune

They buried her today. I stood in the crowd, all of us dressed in blacks. I straightened my tie nervously as ladies I didn't know in big, veiled hats exchanged soft, sad words about what a shame it was. How she'd been so brilliant, how she'd had such a full life ahead of her. Ladies that didn't even know her. There was a coffin, but there wasn't much in it. They didn't open the casket either, like they did sometimes. The man at the funeral home had said there was a limit to how much they could make fit for viewing, and I didn't really blame him for not even trying. "This sucks," Cindy told me. We were sat at one of the cheap metal tables t

I like grass. Simple statement, I know. I'm not usually one for keeping things simple, but when I'm here, and you might be, I feel speaking my mind is a little less cluttered. It's not like anyone hears me, anyway; muttering away to myself under the trees, bathed in the scent of the new daffodils and the low thrum of the bees. You could call it cliché, but a summer for someone who rarely sees sunlight is a commodity as rare as love – almost just as cherished. A summer with a sprinkle of love, however, is gold. We can eat that peppered steak on the crumbling bench, share a vanilla float in the dusk heat or count the different type

imagine this: your life strung out on a line, on a series of lines. the sum of you peeled apart and dissected and laid bare. imagine your memories radiating endlessly outward, glasslike and glowing, making crystalline patterns of sunshine and dust. these patterns making cracks behind your eyes. each crack leaking dreams. imagine yourself and your body and at the center of it a circle of constant light. (you are standing in the circle. the light is blinding.) imagine time forgetting to breathe. the supple darkness between its heart and lungs suddenly expanding past eternity. billowing outward, coiling. not a stutter but a pause. a space ju

Parked on the shoulder of the road, crescent moon at our backs. To the north, across a field of wheat, lays the glow of city lights. You and I roll down the windows, blasting pop music into balmy night air. We step out onto a carpet of wildflower studded prairie grass. The fireworks have already begun, a glittering blaze of color against a backdrop of clouds and stars. Shooting up with high-pitched shrieks. Sparks of red, green, gold, white shower overhead, and all around us. Competing in splendor with flashes of lightening to the south. Promises of a coming storm. A car passes by on the highway. Mosquitoes land upon my neck

The last time I learnt to read, it was from clouds. They hung on the bald horizon, and I could feel what they were saying without suddenness or ceremony. They lowed like cows on the slopes of my home which was not my home. My country lay spread out behind me. I blinked and it was gone. They lowed goodbye – I did not weep. * "Are you cold?" Anna asked. Slap-slap-slap went the sea on the edge of the boat, trying to pen a letter. I stared out across the water. She tried again. "I'll get you some bread." "You asked me if I was cold." "Are you?" "If I am, bread will not warm me." She laughed. It was a dangerous thing to do. I felt