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scratching the surface,
we’re struggling to shed the skin
of our dysfunction

deadline approaching,
and I’ve still not decided
what to do without

Last night in bed,
staring into the darkness,
seeing my life flash before me -
a barrage of color, sound, sensation
I hardly recognize today -
the squandered moments rushed back,
markers of each intersection
where my course was set
Then there were others with no signs,
just subtle warnings
of what lay ahead.

And I was the driver,
listening to the music
and tapping rhythm on your thigh,
cresting a hill on the expressway,
seeing the disabled car
half an instant too late.

How is it we so easily
dismiss the peculiarity of the moment,
as if any other
could have taken its place?

Perhaps it’s because
we want to believe,
(as you often said)
every moment,
each opportunity,
is self-orchestrated;
like the universe
is a willing mistress
waiting for our call.

But just before the break of day
as you lay with me,
resting peacefully,
silk hair on my arm,
soft breath on my neck,
I was someplace else,
wondering what I’d done
to have found myself
in a moment like that one.

I’ve been one to keep
wanting and waiting for things
just beyond my reach.

image: Clara en su mundo

into the unknown
from out of the familiar
let us now venture.

I am not the me,
not the me you thought I’d be,
not the one to set you free
and not the one you once believed
would stem the tides of seas.

I am more than me,
not the one you had foreseen,
but just like you I had a dream –
a delicate contingency –
depending on a “we.”

image: Untitled blue