Touching the Stone

Two spirits hearing the same distant plaintive train’s whistle
Feeling captured in amber
Words are sometimes without meanings
Spoken as light as air and with the same consequences
Whispered in that mindless wind that won’t settle
Circling each other with the majestry of love-sick cobras
One move life
The other death
You leave me an emotional puddle
Curled up on the floor
Weeping dry tears because there is no more moisture
Switch
Focus
The dirty bedraggled unkempt poet still in the clothes he’s worn for months
Mutters at his clubfoot as he crosses in the middle of the busy street
Carrying all of his belongings in plastic bag
Over his shoulder
The tin cans rattle as he limps away creating their own song to the heavens
And her words hung on the edge of his ears, whispering
“You were probably good looking once”
Switch
Focus
He reaches out to touch her shoulder
And hopes her skin doesn’t tighten and her back curl away, this time
He pictures rubbing lotion on her burnt back
To comfort her for her lack of discretion flying too long near the sun
He knows what he is not and that he can never be that bright light
She holds nature above nurture
And follows the sight line of the horizon
As clouds spill over the edge of the world
Switch
Focus
An elderly couple sit on the park bench
Sharing the sound of the song coming from the children at play
On the swings
Back and forth
Giggles reaching for high squeals
From joy to easily forgotten terror
Theirs is a shared smile
The contentment of his hand on her shoulder
Teenagers holding hands never realize how important that can be later
In life