If you speak / With the astral of air / With the plume of pigment / With the coalesce of colour / With the proxy of pixel / With the torch of texture / With the radiance of resilience / With the quasar of quiet / With the continent of care


Leave a Comment

Sun alley sun bake sun bathe sun beam sun berry sun block sun bonnet sun burn sun burst sun cream sun cup sun dae sun dance sun day sun deck sun dew sun dial sun dog sun down sun dress sun dried sun drops sun dry sun flower sun glasses sun god sun hat sun kist sun kissed sun lamp sun light sun like sun lit sun lounge sun loving sun ning sun ny side-up sun parlor sun pitcher sun plant sun porch sun rally sun ray sun rise sun roof sun room sun rose sun screen sun seeker sun set sun shade sun shine sun spot sun stone sun stroke sun struck sun suit sun tan sun tea sun up sun visor sun ward sun worship

People act as though holding on were necessary. As though a mistake could be made. They say things like ‘never let me go’. As if there was a risk. And if they mean touch. If they mean care. If they mean closeness. If they mean intimacy. If they mean affection. All of these things that we most assuredly are. Then holding means rhythm, and rhythm is a dance, of keeping close while letting go. Of venturing out, while returning to share. And perhaps each of you will one day venture so far the beyond of known, that you will not even recognize each other when you return. And you will be surprised beyond all imagination, at this exquisite new creature who you are now meeting, who is nothing ‘like’ the love you have ‘lost’. And on that day, do know, that the love is no different. The love was never ‘held onto’, like attachment. It was only held. In hands. In heart. In helixes and homes. In the horizons beyond all that is presently seen. You can trust those vast vistas, those prismatic veriscapes, of epochal tomes, to carry the body’s carafé of the new, into the soul’s infallible caress of the old. Into the unexpirable. The undateable. The beyond all womb