The Way it Felt
It is the way
the beginning of winter felt,
the way patterns
of this arrangement felt
and the way my relationships
were meticulously organized
like the layered leaves
of dark dahlias.
The way my memories
of being a child
haunted me as I stood
beneath a dying sun.
( there is no interpretation
for loving a stranger )
I think the trees
want to join the sky,
give birth to babies
imprinted with stories
of animals
and storms
and birds
with
smoky
wings.
The mind of the tree
follows me
as I pull myself
metaphorically
into the direction
of an ultimate demise.
How can I tell you
the way this feels
the uncertainty of
being alive
the heartbroken
wonder of death?
Sometimes I want to
scrape the sand
from my tongue
wash my mouth
out with soap
and ask a man I loved
how he became a stranger.
© Poetry Gesso Cocteau
© Art Roberto Ferri
