Image source: ESA / Hubble, R. Sahai and NASA
In Your Image
After erasure, starting anew,
I’d begin with you in permanent ink,
and perhaps myself next in shading-pencil,
or even a charcoal, perhaps not
quite that dark or indelible.
You see,
I don’t know
where I’m supposed to be,
but it never really matters
as long as you’re here
with me,
and not necessarily
here with me,
but somewhere
on this massive rock,
daring to exist without meaning,
exchanging meaningful vibrations,
we’d bubble, churn,
and ooze into anvil-clouds,
raining grey slivers onto sunsets.
Because I love you,
and that is true and fine
and completely permissible
even without my understanding;
I say the words, and I feel it,
even as I don’t know exactly
what it means; I mean I chose it,
but even had I not,
I’d have it all the same,
splitting my breastplate,
spitting into my denying eye
as the heart rushes to keep pace
with the words that won’t come,
claims that get caught out-of-sync
like an 80’s high-hat sharp-hit
where a 90’s boom-bap snare-kick
should land as planned.
Nothing went as planned;
I crave order and there is none
and that is perfectly fine
except when it isn’t;
I desire structure and superstructure
even as I chafe at the yoke
holding us together; holding us apart;
I’d shatter the firmament
for your fleeting smile;
with a snap of my fingers,
I’d snuff-out the sun
if it meant that my final moments
were sitting on a rapidly cooling
solitary park bench
next to you,
hips scarcely touching,
in tranquil silence.
I’d ruin the image,
saving your sketched outline;
my greatest work.
How can I possibly remake this world,
the next, or any other?
My own name,
now and beyond,
lacks structure or meaning
unless you write its narrative
with hands that shape its very context,
or unless you call upon it,
breathing its purpose
with your own lips;
which isn’t the same as saying
without you in my life, in some way,
I am nothing,
but it’s oddly similar to
The Commodores without Lionel Richie
in that I struggle to find the point.
But what I do know is this;
I’d begin with you
in permanent ink.
***
Inspired by dVerse Poetics: New Year – New World, hosted by Mish. Other poets contributed to this prompt here.
Hephaestus’ Waste & Cosmic Rubble 
Yes! And the song selection is a favorite remake of mine. This is everything, Barry!
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Thank you, trE. I see you over there, grooving on your own poetic love vibe. It’s weird how our headspace seems to be traversing similar areas, even when we’re not influenced by each other’s words.
Spooky action at a distance, as Einstein called quantum physics. 😊
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Haha. Great minds . . . Great hearts . . . You’re most welcome!
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” … daring to live without meaning …” – got my vote.
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Thanks, man. 😊
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Should we consider ourselves lucky? Those of us who live with the name of just one love indelibly etched upon our hearts? They say it is luckier to have loved and lost- but what if you find yourself never able to love again? As always your words are resplendent with emotion.
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You always give some of the most thoughtful comments. You make me think. Thank you.
But what about my poem make you think of just one love? I love your interpretation, but I’m mostly just curious.
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I like the description of the yoke “holding us together; holding us apart”.
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Thanks Frank. I almost made that two lines!
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Oh my, the flow of thoughts feels so liberating. I like the contrasts you create and how you return to permanent ink. Love this.
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Thank you Mish. 🙂
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I like how you start (virtually) and end with, “I’d begin with you in permanent ink,” The rest is gravy. I like the way this could be a romantic or friendship or beginning stages of love type of relationship. A connection that is important.
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Thank you, and I agree that love can manifest in numerous dynamic ways. Leave it to me to try to be greedy! 🙂
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🙂 Love is such a healing thing, who could blame you.
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Oh I think if nothing else there is always that purpose of being two… and that makes all the difference.
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Love that permanent ink, Barry. Also, “Daring to live without meaning”. A game of What Would You Give Up For . . .
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❤
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