these…

harmonies pierce
with an arching linger

from those past knowings
we haven’t spent

forming familiar sounds,

floating

on to hushed hearts
in aching newness,

hands clasped while treading,
paths parallel but converging,

as deep translates
the haunting of melody

 

 

the gentle cradle…

of the soundtrack

to my dream last night,

facing me forward

into the slip stream of my mind’s review,

while time was on the accordion

compressing the memories

and playing the ones that wanted to stay.

Mesmerising to a standstill

the notes raimented themselves before me,

their diaphanous linger

forming the shape of my mother.

Stepping out of the slipstream

I watch her,

beautiful in dream youth,

opening a window…