Ignorant

Only a few hours without the sight
that took me back to remembrance,
on old lace couches beside
a grand piano no one but
us converged upon...

we lived, enfolded in forests
I carried no bread for on my back
to leave behind,

and I swooned
away from alcazar.

Was it right to shadow no maps
or engrave the mark with
something other than
a new moon?

Tonight, I took the straight road home,
not aspiring to hear your name
answer me,
and be too still for any reply
other than harried footsteps
and a buffeted heartbeat-
does this mean that bliss
is summoning me toward her,
away from being
lost among a sound not of
my kin?

Yet here I see no woodland
mirrored into my eyes....

I....stand?

Is this what one would call
standing, when I slant my shoulders
and extract my stomach
as if I haven't been feeding
without you?

Waltzing around the room
like I'm the one with the strong accent,
thinking I have power
over you.

I never have held the field of
hearts dear,
I'm just the neglect,
the statue of a symphony
you told me was always

originally, for me.

Though your country is hidden
on silver capes and wilderness
that never understood
I am able to be hearkened.

And these circles, where did I last
press my body against,
keep minding me,

imparting that your music
was all in the story I would
imbibe myself with,
late at night, barren from
assurance
that I could never escape
into a real dream.

How could I disregard
the truth that you wanted me
to pose for Greece,
among fulgid pillars
I never learned about?

For I am a collection of hymns
that's lost its sweet touch.
I am left to live,
versed in rawness,

knowing I am the fawn
who once languished,

and who was once
silenced.

Written July 27, 2012 at 12:02 am.