Prosology

I’m a salty lagoon, flowing in and out of life. Are those

lilacs, a summer breeze, a thought gone awry? It’s fetters

and weeds, where innocent souls once dwelled. I love

you becomes confusing, searching for a body. I’m left

atwitter with this thought, afraid to ignore it. Indeed,

rivers are bleeding, veins are screaming, time is naked

with facts. Evoke membrance. Contemplate yesterday.

Stare deeply into reflection. “It’s not enough.” Indeed,

it isn’t. It’s similar to a blackdamp, dearly aflame. We

see a light, and feel a whisper, but darkness is upon us.

So grip a light, pneumatic in texture, and sorely clad

in sky. Indeed, I’m reading verses, marking pages,

imbuing a future. “But what is this life?” It’s a tallith,

warn for prayer, a secret compartment. “Am I living?”

Indeed: soaring with eagles, rising and sailing with life.