Short Reprising Poems

You return in sequences;
peripheral memories nod
like wire-sprung dipping birds.

Your ruby-dark triangle
the V of your asking,
an opiate of drenched blooms.

I am reprising scenes
cut from any official showing.

Senses lost in a long darkened cinema,
and I cannot make it back
until unscented by your ghost.

Scenes whir on
under closed eyes....

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Madge, do you sometimes sit down and hear
The songs that winced across your fence, do
Think of the desert place our childhood grew up
Drinking those songs like anesthesia, old
Things now, but lasting more brightly to bring
A sense of distance from the lost, and a sense
Longing for the past, a sense of wanting things
To last, and the past to try again some part
While from away the haunting song teases the heart...

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You return in sequences;
as a bit-part in my movie.

Peripheral memories nod
like wire-sprung dipping birds.

Your golden triangle 
the V of your asking,
my mouth to lips intoxication
is an opiate of drenched blooms
that are still not dry. 

I am reprising scenes
cut from any official showing.

I live now in a distant camera lens
and cannot make it back
to those moments
nevertheless,
some scenes whir on
under tightly closed eyes....

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