Am I waking up, or falling asleep?
The wind in the trees, in the grass,
this rain on my face,
this silence that shadows
the whispers of elm trees
and the barking of dogs.
My apparition in the black marble of graves,
and the city lights in the beckoning distance.
Let me see the beauties of silence.
I welcome death.
It is a country that knows no borders.
I turn my head away from the sight of motion.
I tiptoe toward the arched iron gate
not to disturb the slumber of the soul.
My feet have become too big
to tread upon the roads of my childhood.
Am I still here, or is this a dream made solid by insanity?
I think the truth is in between.
Between the elms and the grass,
the wind and the rain.
Between life and death and our bodies,
drawn together by a shared illusion.
I am alone now, and this moment belongs only to me and the world.
The lover I’ve deceived you with.
No good in half-lies. I am always unfaithful.
Even this sacred silence
is penetrated by thoughts of easy laughter.
It is my nature, this duality which leaves me unwanted.
Is it difficult to love? No.
It is difficult to promise,
When the dark bathes you in sweet carelessness,
and there is nothing to keep you from thinking
you are free.
And if you say a word, if you write a sentence,
the magic is disintegrated.
Will you want to see me tomorrow?
Even if I am broken, if I am another,
will you want to share the voices in your head?
I cannot share my silence.
If you smother it, nothing will remain,
We are good friends. We converse in the dark
not to see all that we have left behind.
The past has fallen off us,
memory by memory,
like leaves on that wind I hear.
I can be new again.
I can be real.
Just like an elm, a lover, a sound.
Like the green, the silent, the blue.
Just as real as you.