Poetry

autobiography: love

June 10, 2004.
Cape Cod.
I am standing on a collection of large
rocks that feel to be slowly eroding
under my feet,
as if to retreat
into my shoes.

I am aware of the changing color
of the bay beneath me,
blue to white waves of water,
the sounds of eroding rocks
stopping the progress
of blue murky water
CRASH!

I am standing here.

I gaze at the red falling sphere-
soundless and impossibly red
being swallowed by the horizon
The sun shimmering.
the sun red.
with the wind bleeding off it
lightly thinning through the air, slowly dissolving
to blush upon my cheek.

to the left of me and further down:
an old man and an old woman.
his arm around her
as if sculpted in repose,
dressed and placed here,
wrinkles carved out delicately.

the hands of long life.

her head sunk into his rising shoulder
the soft surface of later stage love
framed by the setting sun.

I turn and watch them carefully.

Here stands an answer
true and long and hard fought love,
that knows the trench;
that paints the boughs;
that shares wholly;
that sets surely into
warm and clear.

and as the sun pulls away I
stare at them and think of her
from my perspective of young love,
telling myself I see us there,
and wanting it to be true,
but knowing
somewhere
that she and I could never understand
the way his shoulder had eroded from
her comfort and need, the way he
allowed her to find safety in him
and in turn felt safe.

standing on the eroding rocks,
the sun disappearing in front of me
as the first stars begin to peek just
over the horizon.

Kevin Crispin
What do you think is up to my right in the picture? A cob web? Probably a cob web. Or maybe it's my Beatles records on top of my air conditioner. It's certainly not fresh, new wainscoting.

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