Have You Noticed

After Mary Oliver

have you noticed how certain poems linger
in the echoes of yesterday

how certain triggers replay
a certain phrase

how hanging onto words
engulfs an empty room

how walking through fields
begets velvet moonlit nights listening to you

how spinning a record after dropping a needle
births a mountain of longing and sorrow

have you ever noticed
that no matter how many times

you block out the sights and sounds,
they sprout their way back to your tomorrows

A bump in the night

the voice comes to me
as a phantom in a dream.

as i write
the voice channels
from him to me.

laughter vanishes
to staring at the sea,
to the house
that no longer carries
his childhood dreams.

vacanies searching for occupation
from passing through stations
to platforms holding onto memories,
all of it comes to me.

in my internal screenplay,
is he the playwright
or the main lead?

the nature of it,
all of my opposites:
bruting arrogance
or brilliant confidence.

is my empathy a curse
or is this a curated character chiseled in verse?