We wait like raindrops, contemplating drought We wait, for what? The end that might begin? To turn perceptions into certain doubt We wait for changes, much to our chagrin It doesn’t pay to wait for certain change It doesn’t pay to change when we must wait Dichotomies are nothing if not strange It’s strange to think of all we contemplate Then back to being raindrops in the drought We contemplate perceptions which will change Is this what dried up life is all about? Is waiting thus the way the gods derange? Deranged in waiting, everyone is god A metaphor perceived as simply odd.
I watched her disappear in songs of smoke I thought she’d be the one to prove them wrong But breath is only life until you choke And brilliance fell to shadow in her song She moved through rooms like rumor, half-believed A trailing laugh, a shadow at the door I’d turn to speak, but find myself deceived Her voice remained; her motive was impure She danced on coals and called it poetry Mistook the glow for grace of ashen youth Her exit staged in careful tragedy A burned out lie she passed off as the truth Let smoke recall her, beautiful, unwise A flash that sang of air and smoky lies
