In the hours since last we spoke

across an ocean
a portrait was unpainted
oil thick brush
spun over
rosy cheek
plushy pink
pupil
strokes birth blank canvass
ghostly white

my hair has grown
voice went raw
i’ve aged
a little
you wouldn't notice
like you i’m still alive

in the Midwest,
a dance was undanced
tender tendons snapped
under pressure
toes unwilling to bend
broke
Music came
briefly
and the dancer lay
outstretched on the floor
rhythm gone for good

it’s silent here
the darkness screams
electric
window-light climbs rippled ribs
to embrace my failures

a poem was written
Words spit to paper
ruin it
to bruise it
the author lost the thought
abandoned the exercise
the work became snow
called it art

the morning came
uninvited
as it always does
the calendar rolled
like a titan
dragging down the dream
as it must

In the east
a friend was lost to
another
drowning
water hugging a body
like a wet suit
Forcing out warmth
tides unkind
as loss

I've slept
More than I expected
Drifted more than I hoped
even worked
Eaten
Cleaned

a moncton a man
was arrested for child
pornography
the lady upstairs lost her
cat to cancer
a heart attack in the food court
then there was nothing

in the hours since last we spoke
the world united
indifferently


Michael Lorne Leard