poems as hand- and foot-holds on a glass mountain

Remnants in Place

A shuffling sound half-heard
almost asleep, remnants of a dream
mobile shadows sliding away
almost tactile hints of past desires
the Real teasing us
from just beyond our grasp, scent,
working self-emptying loops of desire

through menus, catalogues
decades of neglected memories
of moments we saw almost nothing of
their leavings, remnants
place-holders of a distant globe
bits of skin scraped off
rounding hallway corners
through doorways in half-light

our much-deluded body will soon fall away so
minds strung on limbs like fiddle stings
playing themselves in unsought passage
corners reach out for us, take us in hits
we don’t miss at first like sleep-frozen limbs
waking bit by bit; the ‘we’ fragmented startles us
who thought ‘together’ was our default state

finger-tips left on latches not just prints
hearing again a reef of shouted slurs we can’t retract
even forgiveness lets them mark a place
the gathered ‘we’ cannot leave so poorly seen

not what we desire, pursue loopingly
with only momentary satisfaction
but what we stumble into takes us
flash and clap until we vanish to ourselves
and original light returns; so remnants say
of place and of us

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