Where Light Melts

You cast me under your ancient spell ~

a quiet surrender to your fading fire

I wait for you in the spaces between hours ~

where light loosens its hold on the sky

and begins to melt into the waiting sea

You pour yourself into me ~

golden ... unspoken ... until my spirit hums

and I can no longer tell

where your warmth ends or I begin

At the sight of you, I fall inward ~

not to form but into the hush of something

I have always known

You move through me like tide and flame ~

slow ... rhythmic ... unraveling ...

the forgotten softening that was held too long

I did not know my origin until your return ~

until I laid down my fear

and let your dusk open me

What grace ... to feel this quiet knowing ~

this unseen thread

no distance ... no darkness ... can dissolve

We are no longer apart

Half the world may turn you away, yet you remain ~

a lingering glow ... a quiet ember ...

that does not leave

So go ... into the horizon ... become the sea

Goodnight, my sun ...

until you rise within me again 

Before We Were Separate

With each morning, I chase the sun ~

not to catch it,

but to remember where I began.

Each dawn arrives like a question,

unwritten, unfolding,

waiting for meaning to take shape.

There is something ancient in the light ~

a quiet persistence

that has outlived every darkness

it has ever known.

It finds me without fail,

crossing impossible distances

just to rest upon my skin.

And I wonder ~

if what I feel is not warmth,

but recognition.

As if I am not reaching toward it,

but returning.

Not separate,

not searching,

but a fragment of something infinite

learning, slowly,

how to remember itself.

An Echo Across Time

We were forged in a distant explosion 

~

You and I,

each carrying a fragment 

still searching for the other.

Across centuries,

through every form we take,

that longing remains 

~

unchanged, unnamed.

The stars spoke us into alignment,

from worlds apart.

And still,

a part of me stays with you.

A quiet witness,

waiting for the moment

we meet again.

Maybe we will.

Maybe we won't.

But something within us

will always search 

~

And perhaps 

that is what makes it infinite.

Time III

The grains of sand

slip through my fingers.

At my feet,

a silent drift gathers ~

spilling over,

spilling fragments of memory.

Why didn't I see it

forming beneath me?

Or did they only seem slower then,

until you found me in a dream ~

And even you turned to sand in the end.

There was no way to hold you.

You slipped away,

leaving a void,

even in my dreams.

These grains carry the weight of loss,

the hollow weight of quiet emptiness.

Perhaps this is time's only mercy ~

a kind of poetic justice:

it slips by in a single glance,

leaving no room for calculation or regret,

only the soft, soft whisper of farewell.

The Architecture of Illusion

I chose not to add emotional language or technical analysis,

leaving the photograph open to interpretation.

This moment was captured to allow space for 

interpretation and reflection from the viewer.

Personal Interpretations:

The illusion of social containment.

The illusion that preserves society's status quo.

The illusion that feeds the machine.

The illusion that willingly enslaves us.

The illusion that never stops giving.