Photo by Jonathan Knepper on Unsplash

Now, more than ever…

I am absorbed in the white of snow
and the vibration of night insects.
The cold relief of ice-cream and
how the up-and-down movements
of your chest in slumber reminds
my fear to stay away. It isn’t love we need
sometimes, it is its confirmation by presence.

I Don’t Know…

There is nothing I hate as worthlessness.
It is the remnant of wetness when the wave
has left the shore.
I try to remember who I was before
and the memory is empty—
my tongue smart at the slap of aged wine.
I want an aliveness. Something old and
so tainted it comes out pure.
you know how we used to find happiness?
it was in not trying— we let time be, let it be omniscient
while we let our smallness envelop us. I look
out the window and dew is on the grass
and the air has a coolness— there is someone
sharing my existence with me.

A short one

And I have a new name for fear.
It is love or lust or desire—whatever
makes me stretch like bones longing
for relief.
During our last days all I could think about
was keeping you. It was the first symptom
recorded before the crash.

Jim Wyoming writes from somewhere in the northern hemisphere. He writes poetry now and then.

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