Passing moments

passing moments jaime robles

passing moments

jaime robles

2013

the color of tourmaline shines unsteadily on the floor forever seems a hoop of light, a gift in the land between my palms

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a small rain cloud.

waves unfold and birds grow distant over water

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in muted grays we are quiet and thorough.

green slopes out the window

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home’s ragged terrains

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like geometries of landscape the body’s skin a cape laden with episodes monologue of fire-laced wood an expanse neither blue nor ceaseless

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i think of california. burnt grass, stiff and cropped

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i predict a startle of birds. elation of new growth your thursday voice revolutions, clouds smeared on deep air better to ask who shuffles, who deals

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flight: amber tracings, shadows from clouds overhead. the horizon’s tilt sheds vertical song flashes with wings

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and near your eyes which are blue like mine

floats the hook of an unlocked gate

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the afternoon garden buckles under milky sky. elsewhere apparitions tumble across the grass cloud over thick rosemary

flaming blue

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leafless sticks of hedges observe precise angles, evening fields melt into wooly parcels

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country lanes contrive streets wet, slick, unpeeled of motion you like light wrapped in a tongue

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two minor chords. fingers wrapping the chair’s arm wooden floor under the carpet the sound of pages turning

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in the silence between the heart’s beats words separate, a bright bandana waves and morning floats up, unfurls the cries of trees

Thanks to Donna and Kevin Cox Photographs and poems copyright Š 2013 by Jaime Robles