Text-only versions available via corresponding links. All accompanying photographs by Fred Clavél.

AFLOAT UPON LACRIMAL TIDES

by Fred Clavél

 

The cadaverous night

Plays escort to the rhythmic

Tap, tap, tap

Of me,

Behind welded eyes,

And losing my way.

 

The push and slap of these salted waters

Could never cool the space we share.

The air between our hands

Is on fire.

Four-thousand degrees of separation

Burning the whorls of you and I.

 

I want to touch you

But somehow the designs are incorrect,

And this fistful of nothing

Is heavier than ever before.

It weathers my God-given tools,

Completely unable to fix what has broken all around me.

 

All I really want

Is to touch you.