Paraffin Light
My cheeks are kissed by light
soft as dandelion fluff, enveloping
me in paraffin paper. Thinking
of you and you, sound crumbles
like dry leaves–para para
para para–then the distant
intimation of weeping–hara hara
hara hara–rain falling
with the aroma of falling
light, evanescent, disappearing
into morning mist.
Whenever you flash across
my mind, I feel static
electricity’s spark. You will stay
missing from my life and even
the sound of our laughing voices
will fade in time, but I wrap sepia-
toned fragments with my palms.
Memories echo back like light
crumbling and disappearing.
Moisten my dry lips, let me
croon you back to life.
For even if we never meet again,
I wish you prismatic tender luminosity.
To each and every one of you,
I bequeath blessings of echoing
rice-paper thin falling light.
Moët & Chandon
What I have done?
There was no other way.
What haven’t I done?
Also no other way.
I convince myself: no choice.
I turn what I find impossible
to discard liquid, tint memories
amber. They turn into innumerable
rising bubbles that drift apart
like bodies in space, blaming
me for what I should have done.
I was born because I was beloved
by the world and breathe gold
bright breath, so why am I hemmed
by loneliness? In time, all our dreams
thin out, turn translucent, cellophane,
effervescence to sip and to swallow.
I know this, but . . .