painting

magritte: empire of light, ii

Image

We have known this for centuries,
the aging of the clock,
the revolving cycles of ritual.
Yet the candle burns and the wick
does not wither:
the darkness consumes but
it remains aflame,
the cone of light,
this empire of light,
protecting us thus.

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Nighthawks

20130804-181741.jpg Nighthawks by Edward Hopper

I used to have packets of light inside me.
Packets you gave me,
right behind the steering wheel,
beside the vending machine,
in back-alleys and on top of buildings
like artificial stars surrounding New York at night.

I saved them, hid them in a box right
above Insecurity and beneath Fear,
thinking that maybe i should invest them
since yes, the streets are quiet but
at least they’re not silent yet.

The seconds chase the minutes,
and the weeks turn into months of
keeping and saving,
dust piling on boxes hidden
rotting and breaking beneath the pressure

And it turns out,
you can’t keep light
because it will always find a way out-

to darker corners
and
heavier hearts

I saved them for times like this time,
darker times,
But well,
They’re all nearly empty now.

The streets are silent.
I am heading home,
this light the last
and the dimmest.

I wish you kept them for me instead.
You were always better at keeping things.


( this is me trying to get my groove back )
Small steps, Chili. Small steps. We’ll get there.