On the other side of the moon
there’s a figure I distinguish
amongst all other shapes.
It’s the one I can always find,
despite the unmeasurable distance between us.
I stand in the middle of the crucifixion
– a once abandoned idea
that’s coming back to life
and I wish I never had.
It’s a thought that climbs up my mind
to settle in there forever,
to slowly begin rotting away
poisoning my insides.
I make up my mind, decide it’s time,
so I stretch out my hand, my voice follows.
The letters spill from my mouth
one by one
like pieces of old, crumbling bones
I wish I could put it back together
to build a tooth that hasn’t been
yet eaten by decay.
I hear a crack, then another split and I hide
the stolen look away from her
before I lost another piece of myself.
I escape as I fix my eyes on the amber,
shining cross placed mighty
on the top of the Basilicata St. Genovese
in this small town, in an autumn corner of the Earth
where leaves explode around
to land on the golden strand of hair
and to turn her face into a glittering miracle
of perfection dreamed.
On the other side of the moon, there’s a look
that will never cross mine,
a wound that I keep picking scabs off
so it never heals.
The bells from the cathedral startle me
before I close my eyes briefly again
to inhale the wind.
The sound carries the scent of walnut- tree leaves,
it mixes with the never-changing truth
that no beauty is ethereal
besides the one that remains untouched.
Read more Poems:
- Ring In The New Year Bells
- The bridge between their souls…
- Let’s meet over a cup of coffee…
- Winter Cuddle…