The past, the present,
the future falling fast.
The now, the then,
the if, the how, the when–
of us, of them,
of me and sometimes you,
of her and him,
of whirlwinds painted blue.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads…
from A Visit by St. Nicholas by Clement Clarke Moore
Walking at the blue hour of morning,
wet and cold and almost foreboding–
I hear the train in the distance…
It races past with a steamy, pulsating pace
that blows my red scarf onto my face–
I pause to pick up the terrified pup.
biking on the black bridge
bits of blue between the clouds
soft breezes from the river
my son and I watch the barge below–
this moment beautifully burned into my memory
rope, twine, trust, childhood,
lies, dreams, ribbons, memories,
secrets, chains and love
the mechanics of a mind
turning rusty with ample time
grinding teeth, fails to find
strings to silence and to bind
Are you racing down at dawn to flee a scorching fire—
or leaping up at twilight to meet a burning lover?