An anchor forged of dust and bone,
we keep our footing on the stone.
The world demands a quiet weight,
a patient, unyielding state,
where hands stay rested on the wood
and do the things they always should.
Yet in the space behind the eyes,
the architecture starts to rise.
No heavy earth, no pulling line
can tame the sudden, bold design.
The walls fall back, the ceilings clear,
and distance simply disappears.
You step across an ocean shore,
unlatch a long-forgotten door,
or stand atop a wind-swept height
without a single fear of flight.
No rules of earth, no pull of stone—
you build a cosmos of your own.
And though the waking world will claim
the daily posture of your name,
it cannot reach, nor can it bind
the infinite map within the mind.
For when the heavy eyelids close,
the spirit goes where no one knows.
Close to this sleeping root, in its flesh of ancient earth,
something struggles silently to become light again, to be born anew from shadow.
And we remain, with our thoughts hanging like a rope torn from the sky,
wondering whether to overlook its gentleness, sweet and annihilating.
A tumbling of black waters follows, over the forehead of my memory,
a shaken clarity, like a lightning bolt that lies, falsifies, and forgets.
Then I barely recognize the electric grace of the men from long ago,
whom I had seen carrying their rusted shirts through the swamp that scorched them,
planting themselves in the ground with arms outstretched like a cross, a condor on each shoulder,
men who wanted to die beautifully, shattering their bones like ancient bells,
their eyes extinguished like burnt amber, silent as icons forgotten by prayer —
and I feel them smoldering within me, like a root that refuses to sleep.
And I walk out into this magical, phosphorescent rain, mystical and cold,
to untie the rope that binds me across centuries and dreams,
to roll myself back into the root from which all that I am has struggled to become again.
The stars are out and they’re worth considering,
with their glimmering, glittering, shimmering,
like fireworks flickering but more regularly appearing
in the black hole sky.
In Europe there are Ukrainians, Albanians, Scandinavians,
Romanians, Lithuanians and maybe a couple of Canadians,
but out there, in the dark black void-of-space, there are Aliens.
Ok, well, statistically, there are bound to be aliens.
your author has no first-hand knowledge of extraterrestrials
I have galactic questions though—you better believe it. For instance:
If light is the fastest thing in the universe,
why is darkness already there when light arrives?
Could dark-matter be chocolate? and
How can we roll our clocks back if time only moves forward?
This is when having a physicist for a boyfriend is handy
—as well as those times you need a ‘close encounter.’ wink.wink
.
.
A song for this:
Fiction by Yard Act
CanyonsMan/Woman/Chainsaw
Lips, you pass so close
From a kiss to words
Corollas of knowledge
And of pleasure
What are you doing here
On this deserted face
Kneaded by a bare silence
Without a halo
Aren’t you afraid
Of being late bloomers
Of crossing your borders
Into an unreal land?
Yet your edges tremble
And the skin begins to see
As if the ancient spring
Reopened the evening
To see the day
Is to open the sky
To see the day
Is all of infinity
To see the day
Is to leave the shadow
And the primal water
Takes us back
(To see the day)
(It is to open the sky)
There, the eyes gather
A timeless light
It slides on the cheek
Like fruit on the sand
And this chastity
Is not coldness
It is a hand of a spring
At the edge of the face
Aren’t you afraid
Of being late bloomers
Of crossing your borders
Into an unreal land?
Yet your edges tremble
And the skin begins to see
As if the ancient spring
Reopened the evening
To see the day
Is to open the sky
To see the day
Is all of infinity
To see the day
Is to leave the shadow
What-When Where- How- Why
No greater love than a man lay down his life for a friend
This is where a life story journey begins: the unwanted bliss, the forbidden child begins to speak!
Wished to be born to come to the birth canal, wished to breathe the mist of the fragrant grass
the air wished for water or the time the bag burst for life, the tear the tare the feel is real but there
Inside the belly remorse removable no contentment the rest but not for long for it was heard in the sealed small voice the curse the worst never to ride a bicycle down the pavement never to be tucked inside on clean white sheets never to rest the head on a fluffy pillow sprinkled in love and care
Never to taste a sweet, never to know a friend to run and play with, not any day. What is play?
Never could know how to say, Mother
Neither the word Daddy. My last words, last thought, last cry, last tear, last fear, last pain, last day
So Close
What, where, when, how, why? Where are they... They were once so close to life, now gone, never mind because I'm not here on earth anymore, just a ghost, nothing more!
.
Come closer—
close enough that the air between us
forgets where it belongs.
I want to feel your warmth
answer mine,
your heartbeat finding its rhythm
against the wild beat in my chest.
No distance.
No careful words.
Just skin near skin,
breath tangled with breath,
and that dangerous silence
that happens when two bodies
already know what they want.
Your presence is a slow fire,
a pull I feel everywhere—
shoulder to shoulder,
chest to chest,
my body leaning into yours
like it has been waiting
for this moment all night.
Hold me until the room disappears.
Until the only language left
is the way we move closer,
again and again,
as if gravity itself
has chosen us.
Tonight,
let our bodies speak
in the deep, trembling language
of heat, hunger,
and wanting to be
as close as possible.
The door opened again
?For 26 days
26 days of hoping?
26 days of praying?
26 days of suffering
It was like 26 days in hell
?Around you, I could never be well?
Talking to you, I felt like I was in jail?
So now I quell you and never dwell?
On all the pain that made me fail
I don’t want to go through it again
?So I’ll finally close the door
?Hoping you won’t find a pit?
To make me fall back into it?
And make me suffer?
For another 26 days
Through the summer's golden haze,
I've searched for you for days
A love that never quite came true,
Still, somehow, I look for you.
I've asked the wind, I've asked the rain,
If you would ever come again,
But that's all in vain—
'Cause you were the cloud and I'm the rain.
You drift so high, I fall so low,
Waiting for you, nowhere to go—
Our separate paths across the sky,
Just to reach you, again I try.
For a moment's love,
I rose above—
I'm far to get close to you,
But cloud to rain, we'll start anew.
.
mine feelz
thuh hot
nymph's
in bursts deep sleep
breathe
')
When I close my eyes, I see your face.
That loving and endearing smile.
Those beautiful sparkling brown eyes.
I feel contentment.
When I close my eyes, I hear your voice.
That soft gentle whisper in my ear.
The sound of your joyful laugh.
I feel elation.
When I close my eyes, I feel your touch.
Those sweet lips pressing against mine.
Those soft hands caressing my body.
I feel ecstasy.
When I close my eyes, I am with you.
No matter how far away you are.
You've captured my very essence.
I know love.
A close neighbor is better than a distant relative.
This is excellent advice,
For God has commanded us to love our neighbors.
In the simple rhythm of each day,
When help is near and hearts are kind,
A neighbor’s hand can lift a soul
More surely than a far-off tie.
A close neighbor is better than a distant relative,
For distance often dims the care,
While nearby doors stay open wide
To share a meal, a word, a prayer.
Which is an excellent advice,
A truth that shines in daily life—
To greet the one who lives beside
With open arms and gentle eyes.
Since we were commanded to love our neighbors,
Let love begin right where we stand.
Not only blood, but every friend
Who walks the path within our land.
For in this love, we follow Him
Who taught the Good Samaritan’s way.
A close neighbor becomes true family
When faith and kindness light the day.
Lavender wisteria spills
even as your eyes close in sleep
to gaze at dawn on heaven’s hills~
Lavender wisteria spills
a scent so dear my heart refills
with love and loss and I must weep~
Lavender wisteria spills
as your eyes close in timeless sleep.
I'm in my dream home with you ~
AP: 3rd place 2026
I close my eyes
A library or whatever there may be
A classroom
A beach
Right in the middle
You is what I see
Always there
Rarely moving
My mind is never free
Something you said
I still remember
I hear it until I don't
It cools and calms like an ember
I couldn’t stop thinking about it
And I won’t
For you is all I see
Quiet places
seem to offer a way out -
early mornings thick with mist
and the sheeted calm
of water mirroring first light
filtering through the willow trees
on the far bank.
And yet a strange tension
surrounds the still.
Sometimes,
I am sure if I reach out,
my hand will pass right through
a membrane that holds
this world within a bubble -
I will break out into what
is truly real and shines
through the stained glass
windows of all great art
and sings to the soul.
In heightened moments
we all seem a mere millimetre
away from rupturing this thin,
suffocating self prison,
to be close to taking
a breath of pure air
from a place we have known
and yet been away from
for so long - our home.
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