From the Obsidian Room — an immersive piece where words dissolve into moving light.
In a deep sea where sight has been forgotten, only the left ear catches the echo. Candelabrum in hand, the place of the rite is still undecided — a cinematic poem burning at the floor of silence.
Thirsty, I pulled the car over on a whim. Beside me, a flock of swans rested, wings spread and glittering. Glad, after all, to have been thirsty — a cinematic poem of swans at rest on the water by a wayside stop.
I so disliked your flaw, yet resenting it on and on, it was all that stayed in my head — until, before I knew it, I could not stop thinking of you. A cinematic poem swallowed by the deep cosmos.
Standing behind you, I watch your eyes dart to every quarter. Keen of scent, like a wild animal, you observe this one and that — and I love that power to detect. A cinematic poem given to pale-blue foxfire.
Always at the very edge, only ever a good person. There are endless things I could not convey; words I meant to say and pulled back — because I cannot tidy them, because I am ashamed. A cinematic poem set on a hill at dusk.
Bursting out barefoot, and every gaze falls to my feet. Bundled up and ready — only a touch too hasty; the morning is packed with things to do. A cinematic poem of a headlong dash.
Deep in the heart, I know there is a feeling always glossed over. Though substitutes abound, I know it cannot easily be done — for it is a feeling you keep so preciously hidden. A cinematic poem set in a soundless piano room.
A drowsy afternoon lecture; at a single word I woke — and grasped the tip, the one thread I had always sought. A cinematic poem given to a single string.
To me, off at the edge, you poured so much nourishment that I underwent a growing-pain of a change. Yet the more you poured, the more I grew, the more your original form disappeared — not even at my edge. A cinematic poem of an empty vessel being filled.