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

what the day contains

brown drifts of coffee grounds, and the tappings of the black-capped chickadee finding rhythm with the tick-ticking of spring rain on new-green locust leaves the passing hours mold the morning into the firmer lines of day, tracing the flights of fugitive birds - red hawk, wren, house finch, crow, ubiquitous dust-winged sparrow shadows lazily skate … Continue reading what the day contains