I Look


I look for you in clouds and in window reflections wavering back at me.           I look for you in stories of love and sacrifice 
and on book covers
and in songs and in weeping cello notes hanging in the air.
I look for you in the quiet spells
and I look around in the tumult and highpitched buzzing of a crowd.
I look for you in nightmares and tremble each morning,
 troubled and shaken that my waking visions are so much worse.
If I reached for you and touched another would the wanting change us all?
Would we be linked and enhanced or would it pare a bit 
exposing us 
like lemon peels
letting them fall to the floor 
curling and hardening in a small, defiant plume of scent…
Could I accommodate this new connection,
could I make a nautilus of my heart and order the chambers with the time I spend longing
so that they are swept and polished and ready for occupancy?
Ready for the moment
when I look for you…
and I look
and you, 
or someone very like you,
are there.

About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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