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Poetry

Audio: Read by the author. 

 

Do not go, little hour.
Salt pinched from the sea
of Time—do not go.

My kiss prayed all night
against your gray arrival,
but now my Jacob mouth
clings to you, breaking light.

This silence before
love pulls itself
apart, against
the current of its own
longing, is the most terrible
silence I know.

My mouth is a lake
with a hole in its bed.
All my words run back,
drain into my heart
where no one can hear them.

I want you with me
in this wordless place,
but do not rise yet
where you rest, radiant.
Do not bring us closer
to the unlocked door.

In your dream
lie still a while.
Know later I will
sit again in the room
where we were.
From the hidden waters
of the fallen lake
I will draw up the words.

Little hour before the ache—
never go. Be always here:
a rest that she may lie in
some other lonely day.

 

 


Michael Dechane is a former carpenter, videographer, and speech writer. A native of Odessa, Florida, he currently resides in Zürich, Switzerland. His poetry is forthcoming in Saint Katherine Review.

 

 


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