As it Occurs  C 



This outer space
bespeaks the walls of me-
paper as they sometime be
with frailties
from youth
and old routines

And now, at autumn time,
My inner house echoes
sounds lost in childhood
sounds not received-
miniscule gestures of
a life long orchestration:

Melted hopes,
spun of silk and rain, and 
angora things
only in small portions
realized

The whispers and cues
of strong arms encircling
or soft eyes wide open
hopes and fears
frozen in motion-
emotionless as shadows...
]
A stilled life
almost
as in a work of art:
about to become
a harnest of fire
still to be consumed-

 is this life the
portrait of me?
a painting to be discovered
 someday
with mere mention that
sorrow could not always be overcome

Only the tinkling piano
unrecorded chords and scales
never developed:
Ancient reverberations
of a time racorded in passing

foresaken

A person embracing air

A yet tender song
of green leaves and
trembling blossoms-
and the rooms within,
bereft and salted
vibrating still-
the song shaken
stuttered
persists
will not divulge
will not exist without
any other posture but
this one
and this shadow,
silent no more

My life at hand-
this stance I have chosen
for a love I may not
fully experience
but as I am my father's daughter-
yet I will persevere
in my hope to be all
that I can be and to love
and live all that I can
even in the withering
as it occurs...
the whispers grows stronger:
I love you all
I love you still
I always will...


phoebe


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