Sweet William

yesterday, I carried a sprig of Sweet William three miles to a favorite poet's grave simply because you do not have one and there, the trees were a free-for-all of birds - oh, gorgeous, noisome riot! some other Spring mourner before me had left a tiny, silver "s" of a snake - something you (poet, … Continue reading Sweet William

the waiting

the waiting creeps up from feet, passes hips, submerges wrists in slippery uncertainty naturally, the ear strains to catch the subtle shift of air that marks departure no one ever sings through the smoke of staying - love and smoke both only ever go sometimes you get so caught up in the leaving, all kisses … Continue reading the waiting

what has been lost

love remaining half-asked, with an exile's hunger, what have you lost? smoke never stops moving, alters nothing, and leaves irretrievably when exactly does time distill us down to fire? down to accumulated passion? at what point have we traded the marked directions of known constellations for the possible light of far, unseen stars? I carry … Continue reading what has been lost

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while there is time, before light returns to nothing - --listen-- the silence that arises following the wreck is our sound of goodbye we are both of us composed of calligraphies the other will never read © Sarah Whiteley

a poet’s levy

certain books stay hidden - those in which loss and love exist without conclusion and at times I may crack them - draw new maps to old places, new creatures of known constellations, and let the moon out into the room once more, to rest on shoulders that can bear the additional gravity a tolerable … Continue reading a poet’s levy