Contributors * more photos to appear soon

Contributors * more photos to appear soon
Christy Namee Eriksen, kim thompson, Jon Schill

Monday, June 6, 2011

tomorrow this will be a poem and now it is "tomorrow" and now this time has passed...

note to self: when you wake up in the morning do something with the following words "tonight's moon sliver" "the things" and "give-her"



-- and now it is tomorrow --



------



i love you

whole or

slivered

moon shape

imprinted in the never black

but deep ocean blue of evening sky



(you could be a white hotel fraction of a bed sheet

in the background of her beauty

you could be a fraction of her beauty

in the foreground of an entire mirror)



when you are giving light

or resting like the imprint of

a finger's very edge

up behind

the night

it is as if

everything thats happening on the streets

both here

and

over there

have zoomed up

and

back

from space

and galaxies collide on

tumbling city pavements

as patrons pour out from

sunday night revelries

and late night

fryings up of meat



the things

that you give

the things

that you take

-- the tides you create

-- the desire that you command...



... i cannot help but stare

and wonder on

this brevity

feeling fully how we are witnessing one another

in our waxing turned to

waning

i let go

to know this moment is a gift

i let go

to know everything of this is just a sliver be it whole

or splintered...



sliver of white light matter

comprised of particles

just as we...

nothing lasts near even somewhat close to

what we like to call

"forever"

and yet

words

matter

as they are comprised of such invisibilities of

the very universe

(that)

i carry on the inside of me

which holds me in this present



so that in the morning

when i wake

i remember you as fresh

and am reminded

of how

even moon

and sky

like love

in shining

are merely signs

of

mere short lived

mortality



and i inhale my world

and exhale my departing

with reverence for the sliver

of that moment

in between

which plants me here

on planet earth

inside

my spinning satellites

of

words become flesh

and

how nothing

even moon

can be found

outside

of



me.



*photo of another moon now passed from spring... back when it was almost full and not in last nights slivered state