poem an occasionally

THE ISLE OF THE DEAD

In China, Shanghai, they call it the isle of the dead.
Not that it ever was surrounded by the gentle rubbing of water, but
it is an island now, an isle, and the lights
from the city around work
hard all day and the not-quite-dark
at eroding it until
finally

there is only one building
on a graveyard of thousands: easier
to topple just one.

And no one here ever speaks of ghosts--
They have all left to the city's bright heaven.

sadaspojf

EACH PASSING MOMENT

now now you locks shining
in the sun framing each shining
star and the pearls of your laugh shining
in the cold new day all the air shining
each time before along the necklace shining
in almost the same way but now shining
darker or lighter but still
and now now you
in
and
always

poem a blahdyblah

_____________
the word tumbling syllables down
to bounce across your ear drum
you turning and there has only ever been
one word between us
how quoting you spoke phrases
which were like but not
what you were looking for like
oh but they were close and
into a more violent sea and
in remembering your face is so beautiful
and if i could have a word for it
i would speak that word forever