Ignacio-Pinazo-Camarlench jomarieacosta.wordpress.com

Ignacio-Pinazo-Camarlench jomarieacosta.wordpress.com

run along our frames
We are topographical maps
The backs of our hands a web
of tendons & veins above knotty knuckles
river ridges dry mountains as seen from space
The flesh of our thighs growing thin over bone
The kneecaps jutting out like lost hub caps
The once full cheeks sagging
like bread dough over`risen
The heels cracked as
cobs of corn

Our eyes
once so bright
red rimmed now watery
as though we slept with onions
Their focus once freezing dogs in their tracks
now dyslexic unable to decipher phone numbers
Our breath that of an attic left too long forgotten
In our ears the bristles where there was down
The ebb`tide hairline all blotchy
on the furrowed forehead
The fallow field
of our age

How is it
then that within
this crumbling castle
roams still the young lunatic poet
who with his racing heart strings words
like wild rose petals on the fine silken thread
the petals still damp with the dew of his tears
the silver chain when at last completed
a necklace borne home as a gift
for the one he loves
on the wings
of a dove

About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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