Warmth

Warmth

Not that I saw them, but I felt them. Ice crystals
on my upper lip. Steam preceding me, wrapping
‘round my frozen thoughts -- boots breaking an
endless row of bones against a dog’s distant bark.
That’s how warm it was, walking home tonight.

“Warm”?
The coldest we have ever felt, is warmth.
Lingering effects of an atomic blast, without which
we walk few steps further. Have the sun go out.
Speak to me eight minutes later, about cold.

The shaking key let me in to the building’s glow.
Pressing 14, I melted in the elevator. How
vulnerable we are -- how utterly dependent upon
things none of us fathom, much less think about.
The door opened, to ever-increasing warmth.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Dance at Bougival

Dance at Bougival

Please, steer me clear of Juliet if you must speak so –
[and he does] -- she leans away, but her ears are like
pincers, and nothing escapes them, my darling.

Why must we care, why? Oh love, I would declare unto
the entire drunken fleet, “I have fallen, thrice-stricken
by Eros, Venus, and Aphrodite.”

Please, your right hand above my sash if you will –
[and he does] – that’s better, we must for the sake of
appearances if nothing else, maintain some decorum.

Why must we do so? Love, I would trace with my tongue
the red trim of your bodice against this very poplar in the
presence of these witnesses that worry you so.

Please, that may well be, but if you do so love me –
[and he does] -- you will lead me from here, even now,
that thine impropriety may be properly, received.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009
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my scared

my scared

so it was as though i floated away and there is no
other way I can tell you. the earth became distant.
i got scared, not like when something frightens you.
the kind of scared when you want it. everything
was black, but the opposite of nothing.

hovering means something below you and there
wasn’t, so I can’t tell you what we were doing but
we were not falling. the only way I knew there was
anyone beside myself was because my scared
was the kind when you want it.

no one spoke but we breathed, and when we did
little puffs of whiteness covered continents. fell over
a hemisphere, an ocean like a cloud. then I heard
without words but loud, and quiet, imagine this.
to close my eyes would snap the equator shut.

this ball of blue future, hurtling. i listened as i’ve
never listened, and drenched a rain forest in mist.
gravity falling in upon itself, and – as I said, none
of this was scaring me, because my scared was
cared for and black was the opposite of nothing –

all that you see here not being able to recover.
every pinprick of orbited fire, gone. i shivered, but
not in fright, for in that moment my scared taught me
what i’d sought, a long life ago. without turning, i
concluded, impossible, and felt a nod.

because we are here to discuss this. we breathed
out those white puffs of moisture, covering alaska,
china, entire seas. a loud silence, broken
by the presence to my right saying, no one but you
has ever known this, but even god has a god.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Congruence

Congruence

Something about the shade of your hair,
and what the window revealed, that afternoon.
A congruence. Greyness in each, truth be said.

One [yours] spoke of no return. The other,
of cycle. One day overcast, the next, sunny.
Renewal. Impermanence. Wait and see.

Of note, I’ve scanned the coast. Monday
blue, Tuesday grey. Same water of a week.
Waves tossing sunlight, or not.

All proves nothing. In the end, what is color?
What color is breath? Summer, clear.
Winter -- quite billowy. Quite grey.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Stifled

Stifled

So I watched this guy doing it, I guess.
Not just me, but everyone, applauding
the toilet plunger thing absorbing the blast.
The word stifle appeared on my mindscreen
and this is not unusual. Things
often appear there, on my mindscreen.

But this time I actually set my drink down.
And, for perhaps the first time, I knew
the value of a stifling.
This song, the progression and melody
in this way, could not be, without it.
Reality would be too loud.

So I closed my eyes, and as I did, I
realized that I was stifling what I could see.
My eyes, wanting something less, shut,
no malice aforethought. “Of their own accord.”
What happens of its own accord?
[At least I’m not driving tonight.]

I looked up as he drained his spit valve.
Jesus Christ, I’ve had an epiphany, and it’s
not even midnight. My own muted life
is no disaster, and there’s still time to order
another Bacardi? All this I learned,
just now, watching Justo play his trumpet.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

The Rain Rained

The Rain Rained

When we extended our stay, both of us
agreeing, I knew that nothing could surpass
my joy. But the days proved me wrong.

There was that evening boat, and an afternoon
museum tour we would have missed.
Getting to know the croissant man, and licking
jam from your fingers, the muted television
our only light.

We did what was right, what we knew.
Felt. We fell.
Never will our eyelids erase a little girl
smiling, blushing as we lost ourselves
in the diner. Her mother tapping her plate.

When we chose to stay on, when we sighed.
The last night, who folded the umbrella?
No matter.
We each drank of the cloudburst.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009