craigalish.com

first connections
become mythic

i collect them like fairy tales

you feel a story surfacing
rising in spirals of aether
the feeling of being written
down on pristine paper

the hum of a power generator.
fated eyes locking.
reaching out for a first kiss.
a hand held in a hand.
the chime of wine glasses.
hunger in bodies that grows with constellations.

great authors of our own lives
we are
and we get tangled
in the stories of others

we try to slip in a paragraph
where we are heroes.
we cliché ourselves.
write their thoughts
in permanent ink.

we fuss.
we edit.
we chose our words with care
with dictionaries.

we research the classics.
we compare ourselves with all our humility.
we contrive with wishing wells.

we write ourselves out.
we write ourselves in.

and someone else holds the pen
for half of the page.

words contain their own mystery

meaning and
dreams of meaning

consider: believe
a lie lovingly nestled in its midst
holding its own undoing close
be lie : be lie

doubt and deception sprout
with every belief
and shining a light
conjures shadows

i believe
and my doubt blooms

it is a wild bush
of thorned roses

looming in all directions

“i have to take my stockings off”

she said

“so i can feel the sand
on my feet”

dark night
a still night
smudged city lights
rolling over the water

then she was skipping down the sand
in a field of light
cast from the promenade

a perfect frame for the scene

i looked at the trees
they had it pretty easy

reaching up from the earth
to the sky

churning the air in their woody engines
crafting blossoms in the summer time

damn
they had it made

some were strung with white lights
a nice effect

i liked the more natural ones.

one withers
one blooms
nature and lovers

drinking coffee
white roses peer over the green fence
of a colonial house
well restored and dressed to sell

cars wander by
waves lapping on the shores of the street
each filled with hopes
and dreams

on the way up
on the way down
steering towards it
some rushing
some crawling

drifting away from it
fulfilled or tortured
confused or enlightened

all these lives
all these minds
crawling over the same map

how come they don’t collide more often?

we turn a corner headlong into someone new
drive around the edges
colour only inside the lines
change gears
refuel
reshuffle
and try to deal something similar
something better

and i am too scared to dream
and too determined to be true

sitting in the table sipping coffee
with irony
someone reads my stars from the newpaper
“go for your goals”

and instead i hold my dreams at arms length

i need new dreams

too precious to let go
too delicate to grasp

i dropped her at the ferry terminal
she had a nice hire car
the car of the
year a magazine said
i dropped that back too
then a long walk back to the city
through semi industrial roads,
over railway lines
past billboards

each step forwards
meant one more backwards.
a breadcrumb trail.
sometimes the future
gnaws at our heels

how do these things happen?

the furthest away dream
always out of reach
becomes the sunrise and the sunset

she sailed away
and i followed
and she flew away
and i followed again

another long walk. from the airport
walking out of place
present out of presence

one foot in front of the other
it feels easy
this way
step step step
all steps and echoes

we chase those that will
hurt us the most

why do we always find the least love
the most precious?

the smallest most fragile diamond.

years and years. years
clinging to past days of
the fantastical only in fantasy
pushing everything else in reach away
a shining remembered dream that
blotted out all others
more precious
than waking

letting go can be the hardest thing

we fumble for the most flimsy clutches of happiness
and bite down for dear life

the more fleeting
the harder we believe them

i was broke.
picking up my life again after
after after another tumble
and she was living well.
nights in marble houses
wine in elegant courtyards

we lived out of time for a week
and i gripped the fading light for years

we lay on beaches
and walked empty streets
we danced in the moonlight
we were shameless
we were invincible

i even ate snails.

they tasted of garlic.