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Archive for July, 2007

Untitled poem

Several lights
dot the darkness above your head—
they are
subtle extroverts
offering to show us their version of night:

spinning and mating
they gradually float through the trees taking shape around us

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My fingertips touch the keys, apprehensive and impatient. They hover
and suddenly begin jabbing random keys frantically, producing a string
of nonsense: the DNA of a character that is
always lingering mysteriously in the shadows of a summer’s night,
laughing somewhere beyond white sheets blowing in a spring breeze, and
running from my outstretched fingers as I try to pin her down. All I
want to ask is her name. I’ve been exploring her neighbourhood for
months. I know the grainy texture of the wooden door to her apartment.
I know every cobble that paves her cul-de-sac. I know where she buys
her morning bread and how long the smell of her coffee lingers in the
place where she sits each morning to breakfast. I know her daily route,
her shadow allows me that much, and I know she is unhappy, the city’s
sighs tells me as much. Her state is one which naturally shuns others.
She will not allow me to come any closer, not until she trusts me. She
leaves me clues about her past, like breadcrumbs, scattered throughout
the city streets that she wanders by day. The city contains these bites
of memory in the places which she occupies, and has occupied: the worn
patch of stone on the porch where she sits each morning; the scratched
lamp post which bears one of many notches that, as a newcomer, she made
to trace her very first exploration of the city; the curvaceous script
carved onto the Eastern Quarter’s archway. She teases me with these
slow discoveries. And, in chasing her, I am playing detective to my
self. She knows me better than I know her, pre-empting my thoughts and
motions, leading me blindly into the next paragraph, stringing scene to
scene and mapping my intentions for me, as I attempt to create
something new from what has already been alive for years.

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