Saturday, 10 December 2011

solstice. (no matter.)

you value golden light
and I wish the rays
were tangible.
of what matter are the sun’s
rays, anyway?
no matter, no matter at all.

like when you pull your dark
coat around your body so you’ll feel
like you exist
and turn up your
collar, because the itchy
wool provides some kind of
comfort.
no matter.

we don’t miss it til it’s
gone,
in all its fiery glory and
I would compare it to a
setting sun, but
redundance is never
attractive.

what is attractive about the
fire of a sunset?
does it warm, does
it inspire, does it make you
remember what was, feel like
you’ve been here before?
no?
no matter.

ethereal and fleeting, just like
the dancers’ shoes you
always envied –
the days which were your favourite,
sweet-smelling and too-bright
and sad, because they died
so quickly.

you asked me whether the dramatic
sunsets
prolongedthe pain
or simply cut a place
for it to fit.
I couldn’t answer.
no matter.

did you see, did you observe,
did you care to comprehend
the manner in which we
faded to mere particles of
ourselves?
maybe because the shortest
day of the year wasn’t sweet
at all, was more bitter and salty
like snow pushed to the side
of the road,
unwanted,
but we can’t blame it
all on the weather.

because we had something
to do with it too, this
lack of substance in our hands,
which worked its way
into us, until at last we had nothing
to give.
no matter.

the wind blew through us,
we two, in the dark because
moonlight didn’t suit your
hair like sunbeams

but no matter,
there was nothing left to
see, anyway:
no matter
,
I’ll be surprised if our
thoughts are here tomorrow
and
honesty disappears
faster than your breath
without the moon.
no substance.
no matter.

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