I feel pain on my lips. The upper is not cracked or bleeding, the scar tissue is from the grief.
How long must I pull thorns from my fingers? Is there a measurement when I stop
missing you?
Did my father die yesterday or in the Devonian Period? In dreams, he is a young man foretelling me things.
I awaken. I write down a yellow stained notepad next to my bed. After little sleep in the morning I can’t read the language. The handwriting is poor from no glasses and clouded moonlight.
I started sleeping with the blinds wide open. This allows peeking reflections off the swimming pool or the surf. When I wake up at two and three and four I look over on your pillow and you are not there with your hands on your chest. I prefer my earlier magic trick of just going back to sleep and seeing you in my head wound.
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| Touching the Sky |
Photograph: Touching the Sky
Caroline Gerardo ©copyright 2011
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