KIM CRUX

is one of a mass of primates...

Waiting

The indeterminable sky -

A smattering of blues and greys

As the day grows old,

Nuanced in its denouement.

The long summer grasses

Stir and murmur

With a listless breeze

And the business of insects.

Two crows on tilted wings

Loud with endless sass,

Careen sarcastically

Over tufts of pungent yarrow.

This, suffusing

A single moment

In a sweeping tract of moments

In which I wait for you.

- kc

Clarity

To plainly know

what is right

and what is not,

Despite

the Gaussian blur

on my eyes,

Despite the fracture

 

of landscape

and the fresh shudder

of misalignment,

Is a lithe

Unfolding strength - 

an unexpected

sinuosity of self

 

To quiver and flex,

but set fast

In accordance with 

some unearthed

Demarcation,

Raise my head, square up

with the transience of what is.

 

- kc

 

Weight

Despair - 

low grade, worming, 

not fatal:

 

A relentless sense of loss

shadowed behind the heart.

Something I've become

 

accustomed to - 

heaviness, a sighing in the veins,

an immutability lost to articulation

 

keeping me apart.

 

 

The mass effect of it,

a petrification, a pulling nervosa 

that harries each landscape.

 

This quiet, coiled up grief

that stays, still weighs

despite the passing of years, the

 

distance from one life and 

inevitably, this other.

I am away,

 

withdrawn.

 

 

But I will,

I have decided,

I will plod towards

 

the quivering murmurations of light.

I will inhale

emanations of loamy earth.

 

I will heave my way forward

until I disappear beneath myself

or lift up, like a heron from the field,

 

into the crumbling grey mist.

 

- kc