Post by Steve on May 20, 2011 22:16:47 GMT -5
I found one of your whispers
In a glass mason jar, in a casket of memories
On my closest floor.
The gold ribbon, the flimsy nut securing
Rubber-back saucer-lid,
Released grains of sand from between molded fingers
Of metal and glass.
Before your hushed aria entered the room
The grains voiced discontent in the sound
Of a slide greased with sand-
The whir (with silent R) of wind
The E of steel sliced by sand beneath denim,
Of my childhood land.
You had bottled the message
One day at the beach.
To say the most about this ghost speech,
Is to say that everything now a day
Is a further distance with less resonance-
The last syllable of a long echo-
Than that whisper
So long ago…
In a glass mason jar, in a casket of memories
On my closest floor.
The gold ribbon, the flimsy nut securing
Rubber-back saucer-lid,
Released grains of sand from between molded fingers
Of metal and glass.
Before your hushed aria entered the room
The grains voiced discontent in the sound
Of a slide greased with sand-
The whir (with silent R) of wind
The E of steel sliced by sand beneath denim,
Of my childhood land.
You had bottled the message
One day at the beach.
To say the most about this ghost speech,
Is to say that everything now a day
Is a further distance with less resonance-
The last syllable of a long echo-
Than that whisper
So long ago…