Sunday, May 27, 2012

Temporary





If only you could see it
This speck of dust, Love
Eked out with pen and paper
Hardly the stuff
Shakespeare would ink
Running line after line
In eloquent rime
There are so few rimes in mine
And perhaps no reason
Only dust and desire
A heart drawn in the dust
Of a car windshield,
Or in the sand
For rain or sea
To wash away,
Always temporary
And sometimes invisible
Slipping under a door
Like smoke
To dissipate and vanish
With a slammed door
Or cough
Or breath breathed too hard
Sometimes, all that’s left
Is the dust,
Waiting for some
New poet
To eek out
Rime or reason
Or perhaps
Even love

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