In Defense Of Snail Mail...

Winter's rain has faded
again
from morning's memory
and eves delight -
leaving...
Tincture of essence sky
as even Canadian Geese float by
on their ways
to places -
I won't go anymore
...and know it.

Echoes of hope:
cars rising and sounding -
our 'whales' swimming the concrete-flavored asphalt
on their way, always on THEIR way
WAY
to wherever cars actually go...
and people -
looking though eyes are closed
listening but not hearing
speaking but not talking...
people passing
and passed
everyday
my silent tears flowing to mark their 'ways'
...to have been
but not BE
is many a lifetimes' weakness
and a sad commentary.

Yesterday time had a capitol 'T'
and MEANING
and GUTS.
It took effort
to reach OUT
beyond your fingertips
beyond any 'comfort zone'
beyond a real - horizon.
Yesterday took THOUGHT
and caring
and real giving of YOURSELF
and holds scraps of evidence of YOU
to mark the passing.
You and I
would await -
await while breathing softly
or hardly,
quietly or
hope-fully wishing beyond the nows
to tomorrows possibiles
and the taste of dreams.

...and today
I shape the light;
bend it,
form it,
position it,
TOUCH it -
but...
I can't hold it
can't FEEL
it -
or it's lips
or even fingertips
so softly in mine...
and the LIGHT is but a DARKNESS away.

Chris