Mornings and Shadows

When mornings are veiled with sadness
I ask that you whisper no song
Sell my tears at the hardware
Donate my blood to the crickets
Just leave the door of our bedroom
Slightly open where I could hear
The sun’s footsteps like a burglar
And remember not to water
The sunflowers on my windowpane
Just leave me alone with your shadow.

When sadness is veiled with mornings
Drop a hello to a marionette
Listen to a bleeding Stradivarius
As one would hear a sermon
Then walk with a living saint
In our living room and dance
Sculpt me a rainy season soon
The sawdust rippling in my bathtub
And I will forget the mornings
Forget that mornings have no shadows.

 

 

First published in The Siren

To love is a tragedy

To love is a tragedy,
it is to die a million times
in the arms of Aphrodite.

To love is a tragedy,
it is a surrender, a defeat
when you could have been
an oasis with me
or I could have been
an archipelago with you.

Islands, we are islands
submerged in this emotion.

We try to be one
but we are divided
by the politics of reason.

To love is a tragedy,
it is a fiasco, another fiasco
among a multitude.