Wading through a Sea, Memory, Time

Kitchen Counter, December 1st

I notice I’m getting picture heavy here Damn What can I do To fill new space With text and words and Imagination And Imagination.

Simply spill my mind? Nudge it over like a glass of milk Sitting on the edge of this kitchen Island? It falls delicately. It creeps To the floor Makes no sound when it crashes at your feet.

I scurry to clean it and when I have finished, a calm contentment returns to me. Washes over, And gently pulls the fleeting concern back out to sea.

With a few steps I discard the broken glass down in the receptacle.
My finger is bleeding as it drips onto the counter, white marble A perfect splash, a splash so thoroughly red, so full of life.

I turn back to glance at your face. But you’ve no gaze because you’re Removed from this moment. You aren’t even in the room. This room Of spilt milk and marble counters And what once was A most fastidious gaze.

Were you ever there?