waving waves with phantom hands,
from the crust of Memory's porous shore.
I wombed with you, with your world
and yours are the faces taped upon the old souls
measuring life with salty sticks--
a tide of distance and proximity, of birth,
of death, encrusting a bunch of human sandwiches,
and here I sit, in this wooden chair,
a whitening scar, a memory, and a perspective in skin,
slippery, slipping on myself
in the silken dust from this Temeku desert.
I wonder who you really are now--
eroded in little waves,
swabbing away your sound and hue
while I feel, while I smell the moiety of a memory
of that cold, Atlantic sand, where I used to stand--
you stand on the hills above the hallows
like a lighthouse on the Massachusetts shore
warding despair with its light, and from its light,
a definitive speck of otherness painted upon endless black,
you, standing on inductive land,
slipping in the Swiss-like curds of Remember
and folding into the monument of Yesterday,
all of you,
sketched in necessary lines.
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This Poems Story
I live with my beautiful wife, Dana, my stepdaughter, Denise, and my unborn daughter, Payten, in Southern California. The limitations of my own knowledge and experience inspired this poem. It was born in a moment of wonder and from a place of separation, as I felt myself aging and becoming conscious of the passing things in life. "Necessary Lines" is my response to this beautiful and frightful reality.