His shadow led him away from evening. Turning to catch the falling of the sun the path of his life was clear, scuffed through the grass of experience and forgotten lovers. He turned away again and closed his heart. Forward, always forward, until the end.
past
first hands
first hands in clay
leaving dinosaur imprints
where tyrants are king
and wear the king’s ring
one finger forefinger
guiding design
that through many millennia
shows us humanity
in the museum
as the lights go on
the children
understand
Afternoon evening
Afternoon evening
Thoughts jumping back and forward
Where were, shall we be?
A kiss on the cheek
A kiss on the cheek from my now ex-best friend.
A kiss on the lips from my now ex-lover.
A kiss in the air from an innocent bystander.
A kiss on my fingertips as I wave them goodbye.
The day before
In my mind it’s always the day before. The sun was sunny, the grass was green, you said ‘I love you’ and it didn’t sound strange.
We walk away from our past
We walk away from our past and memories pile up behind us, blocks and rocks and shards of bright stained glass. The rising-sun light lifts the colours of the memories and lays them flat in front of us, puddling and lakes and oceans toward the future horizon. We stride or stagger forward, ankle deep in colour.
The past wins
The past wins. It is always with us, a squatting, glistening frog, always with us. We cannot outrun it though it does not run. In a B-movie treatment of a nightmare chase, our feet try to move but take us nowhere, no farther from the frog. Every now and again the frog’s wide mouth gapes.
The future is a lizard, green, red belly, flicking away into the distance over sunhot rocks. Every now and again it looks back over its shoulder, dragon smoke curling impatiently around it. Our feet try to move but take us nowhere, no closer to the lizard.
The future is impatient but the frog is always with us. The past wins.
simonsalento 