stained glass

through stained and cracked
glass I stare at a rising sun
perfect patterns of light and
warmth on top of a wooden floor
it could be anywhere
it could always be anywhere

from the endlessly morphing
intersection of time and self I will
steal bits and pieces away to hide
them in notebooks and photographs
suspend them in amber and
slowly forget where they
came from or why I keep them
but they still sit so nice on the shelf


I kept falling
from the docks
into the water and
past the city lights
through a crack in the
floor of your bedroom

kept falling
further from the warmth we felt
in the early morning
holding on in my apartment
at the edge of remembering


we were static
shimmering beneath the trees
and if you listened
you could hear the last breath
of every leaf in decay
quiet and imminent

they detach at request of the wind
a stilted descent onto the
graveyard of asphalt below
desperate hands stretched out
hoping to preserve
the final motion of life


the hypnotising blur of
hummingbirds in the garden
and a spider weaving magic with
manic intricacy

teach me the language of this place
of soft footsteps and silent awe
and I will cherish the fear that comes
with loving anything so delicate


I find myself intensely fixated
by the beautiful transformation
of bruises changing color
cuts turning to scars
and drops of blood
being washed off of porcelain

sometimes I still feel submerged
drowning in warped memories

I’m still learning how to float