5057 PRODUCTIONS

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  my reputation is rooted in paradox.

  
  

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It Is Nothing More Than a Rhythm

 is not every night fall

the beginning

of a new and cleaner day?

is not this day my birthday?

are not these ancient pines

my mother and father ... my children?

black volcanic rock

cinders and gravel of earth

crunch under my feet

and every step is my own

and remains as a mark

in this velvet landscape

washed by time

eroded by memory

of what it used to be

and now beneath half moon

darkness comes and shadows disperse

making room to cry

as glow and spraying mist

encompasses burnt and twisted limbs

until all the light is soaked up

by the ground

lifting our eyes

we see a sky not dark

but wistfully taking us away

floating as if at sea

looking, dancing, jumping

from one beacon to the next

some blue, some white

some with a tint of red or green

and once these colored breezes have passed

they leave behind the heat of day

that once reached a high note

like dry thunder

pushing against my skin

drying sweat and making my mouth

smack without water

this is the dusk when notes

of other songs weave themselves

into, past and through our fingertips

moving into our sleep

and the part of us

we only know at night

  BIRTH OF A DREAM (photo in a photo)