V WE TAKE SOLACE IN THINGS OF THIS EARTH LEFT TO REMEMBER: OLD CLOTHES IN PLASTIC BAGS, A LOCK OF HAIR YOUR NAME, SCRATCHED IN THE PALM OF MY HAND. #sundaypoetry #loss #memory #january #jarvis #poetry #text #inspiration #process #writing

II BLACK ICE BLACK ICE TRANSPARENT THROUGH THE TREES LINE THE PATHWAY; THE ROAD TO THE LEFT IS LIT IN AMBER GLOW, IN ROWS OF FLOWERS. A SHRINE FORMS SOON TO FOLLOW: EACH PHOTOGRAPH IS OVERLAPPED AS IF THE LAST IS ALWAYS PRESENT. AS IF SIGHT IS WHAT IT MEANS TO SEE, TO REMEMBER. WHEN ALL OF HIM ARE ALWAYS PAST: THE DIRT ROAD, THE OLD COAT, THE SUNNY DAY A YOUNG BOY, STREAKED WITH MUD, LAUGHTER THROUGH THE TREES A YOUNG MAN WITH A CIGARETTE, ARM AROUND A YOUNGER BLACK-HAIRED BE

DEPARTURE DESPONDENT, BY THE WAYSIDE I FEEL YOU BESIDE ME. APART FROM ME, YOU ARE A PART OF ME I CAN FEEL YOU ARE GONE, I CAN TELL YOU TIDES SHIFT, BOULDERS STRAY. I CAN TELL YOU WHERE WE WERE THAT NIGHT, I CAN TELL YOU WHEN IT TURNED TO DAY. WE RAN PAST TIME - YOU AND ME. THROUGH DOORS AND HALLWAYS, PAINTED GREEN. I CAN TELL YOU THAT THE SUN SET, AND ROSE, I THINK IT TURNED TO DAY, SUDDENLY BLACK PINE BURNT (IN THAT SMALL BOX) I KNOW YOU SMELT IT THEN. FINE DUST CHOKED AND S

I KIND OF THOUGHT EASTER MONDAY TOOK THE PLACE OF SUNDAY THIS WEEK, BUT I NOW DISAGREE WITH MY FORMER SELF. MY FUTURE SELF WILL STICK TO SUNDAY POETRY BEING ON ACTUAL SUNDAYS RATHER THAN MONDAYS THAT MAY ACT LIKE SUNDAYS. TODAY'S POEM WAS WRITTEN SOME TIME AGO, BUT WAS AWKWARD AND UNFINISHED UNTIL NOW. IT IS A LITTLE HAUNTING AND MELANCHOLY, BUT IN THE SPIRIT OF EASTER, IT DOES DEAL WITH DEATH AND FAMILY. IT DOESN'T POINT TO A REBIRTH, BUT KNOW FOR YOURSELF THAT REBIRTH DOES