Sperate the spaces,
Tracking our traces
We're not ever far apart,
The finest composed
Written with our prose
We'll sing slow songs of the heart
Feelings of freedom
Subset is seldom
Distancing, us from the start
Dissolve all the years
Bandage all our fears
Brought this harmony so smart
I do believe
That and beyond
Each path is the mirror
Of the other making time
relative...
Sperate they may seem'
Fore.....
He has arisen
In the presence of
Minds' own eye....
Gary Fields
Poet/Author
I could not tell the two of you apart.
even when i tried to squint you just
grew narrower
and these words are slender stalks in a field
seamless yet sperate, unrhyming yet punctuated.
i remember sitting in the kitchen with poor
posture misspelling the word absence.
you collected a few of the absract moments
to form are binary convoluted past personages.
who spoke in the third person and misdiagnosed
the moments before leaving only shades of
gray pathologies for us to follow.
niether light nor dark.
i tried to gather a little from the two of you
to trace an opinioned outline of you on
some paper, but the opinions fell down.
so i used instead a magnet off of your refrigerator.
you said something like..... what are you doing
or i think im thirsty.
a half empty half full glass sits on the
counter across the room.
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