Tensors are cable tight
ships, bridges, travel and intersection
distance and timing
held strong by a chord
Love is tensor Music
like the rhythms in DNA twisting
resounding through the ages
in thought and generation
fugues and cantatas
Toccatas and Waltzes
Its a cadenza
glissando
and
Straight as an Arrow
night sparks
and the tension starts
quiet – still
the mo-poke marks
the time
of the bitter night dark
Its good chocolate to take just in case. Dark tense and bitter sweet. When memories strike back, I gently push them into the compartments in the train, on tracks of memory creased into the land and held down by the iron gravity of a slight bend in time. The time we’re here to make our mark.
Memories start as pages nice and neat and friendly categorized. On floors on stairways and on the darkened corridors of the upper floor. Pages and pages, but non so organised as to be in a brightened book. But recently now in November dark, I remember things that happened, the bitter chocolate things that shouldn’t have been and for many years with tense energy I had pushed them. Pushed them again into those far flung corners of the house. Out of site and out of everyone’s mind. But now unfortunately those memory doors are unlocked and ghosts coming out of the cupboards with broken locks and swinging hinges.
Stand all alone, bare beach
Cold hands warm waves sandy feet
Bag of oysters – sharp as rocks – good to eat
but the love, of his life, out of reach
Should she ever coming back forgive the heat of the conversation when they meet last time ?
He really wasn’t sure of that and feeling quite level headed decided that actually there may never be another conversation. He turned around and stepped southward along the shore walking along the water margin and whistled to his dog to catch up. At least Oscar would stick with him he hoped. The stars were coming out and he stopped and looked into the sky. There was constancy there in the dark with the celestial sphere up there. Gradually rotating inexorably at the same speed day in day out.
‘Oscar! – he shouted over the sound of the waves.
A bark and the dog was up to him already standing back and waiting for him to throw something. He picked up a bit of driftwood and through it into the waves. The dog bounded in after it and after some few moments came bounding out of the water, flicking salt slake all over the place and then giving a good shake after dropping the wet stick at his feet.
“ok you old joker — Oscar, I suppose you’ll miss her as well – eventually. What if the whole world slowed down and the days got longer and the stars moved slower, he asked ? Would the moon care Oscar ? Just because the days get longer, doesn’t mean the year would. Still take the same number of heatbeats….. all totally wasted no doubt. Would she notice ?”
The dog barked – still waiting for him to pick up the stick.
He picked up the stick and started drawing in the sand. First a heart, then some initials then – the dog sniffed and barked again. They both sat down and got out the bag of oysters.
Shucks the oysters
wags the dog
moonlight glistens
stars are gone
warm waves sandy feet
suck the oysters – aftertaste – feel the beat
but the love, of his life, out of reach
spear in flowers wake
to the dawn and the dewy slake
when in the garden of eve
the purple mulga wood he kleave
and pound the spiky spinifex
in fire rocks a solid resin bleeds
and mulga bits laid out to dry
among the ashes against the sky
then when in the garden of eve
a solid shaft in hand appeared
faster than that arrow bleed
and split the air with cracking speed
the spear in flowers wake
Photo: Teriiska : Flickr – Used with permission
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