The door has not been touched for days now. I sit as one often does waiting for a letter or the sound of lock being cracked by key. These are the worst moments: the shallow earth of a song, the living of doubts and how both find a method to enter dreams. This is the reason the shadows on the road scurry upon meeting headlights.
I won’t pretend that the sky is not falling through the cracks in words. Will it be called snow, rain, or hail? There was never any joy in calling out what an event is. This is how I believe all things will end.
No I am not, wishing for a solution to the soul or how many pieces of a puzzle can be lost before there is only an absence of where a thing must be.
Revisit the way in which the film can be rewound. Paused, I see what was missed on first viewings. The subtle way in which a wind turned the background vague.
The Dead Do Not Hide Their Limitations
When approaching a body, understand the way in which it ignores light’s attempt to define. This is how I enter a room, blocking the shadows from one body to the next. A figurative attempt to erase the shortcomings of touch. This prevents the failure of tracing a voice or the language of breath.
It is often a wise idea to blind oneself before attempting to reach the ghosts of the present. Sight is too often distracted by forms and the objects in a room: bed, dust etched around clock, and a tiny statue of Buddha.
Left to dark, we stumble every so carefully along the walls.
Left to dark, we hope the voices of the dead do not hide the limits of our bodies.
In a film version of this story, he would trace the shape of her mouth in the air and say J’ai oublier, J’ai oublier.
In certain dead languages, the word for “clarification” can also signify “radiance,” “hallow,” or “light.” Which means that she remembered the various objects in that room as nervous stars, a luminous equivocation.
She practices a code
Fingers etching in dust
A mixture of dashes and dots
Crude sketches of Lascaux
About the Author: Chris Caruso earned MFA’s in Creative Writing from Boise State University and Rutgers University Newark. His poems appear in online and print journals. He’s lived in several states and just moved back to New Jersey after seven years in Boise, ID. Chris hopes to eventually live in a small cottage with a koi pond in Oregon.