Humming

Old habits are immortal glimpses

Of the changing state of reality.

The smoke curling into the low ceilings here

Smells the same as it did then

In that strange room with the wide windows

A decade ago

And the burnt coffee fouling up

The taste of eggs and bacon on my tongue

Reminds me of those late summer nights

Clacking away at these keys

While watching Jupiter carve its path

Through the black expanse above.

.

I can still see the way the silver leaves

Of the young maple now grown and mature

Flipped with the strong southern winds.

The universe hums under my fingertips

And the ghost of a friend slumbers nearby.

The world tastes like despair and bravery

Watered down with whiskey.

The flavour has shifted

Now strong and crisp like the last days of winter

And the first of spring.

Jupiter still lingers high.

.

The hawk soars.

A different soul following the same path as its ancestors.

Its predecessor.

My friend.

The one who spoke in riddles

And fanned the red of its tail in my dreams.

Two halves of the same whole.

Two slices, one of the sun and one of the moon.

The foggy grey days in the middle are mine.

We form the branches, the roots, the trunk.

And the wind blows on.

Jupiter smiles and kisses the horizon.

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Silver Serpent Books

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