santos scribes

there is a time that exists
s o m e w h e r e
after the night has given herself to the daybreak
but before the day has shown us her cards
in a place where the windowpane nestles the wall
empty shadows & beckoning light play a serial game; catch-me-if-you-can

it is the greatest secret never told,
only i want to tell you because i need you to understand:
there are moments that happen, a billion times over, that none of us will ever see
like when the pea stops being a seed,
becomes both tendril and root in the very same breath

i’d rather paint you a song or sing you a picture
it would be more honest, more beautiful that way
but my voice has never kept the rhythms of my body
and there is already a heartbreakers song about running down one’s dreams

so too, are my weeping brush strokes always spilling their colors;
pencil, ink, acrylic; even the watercolors bleed
the truth is i don’t think any of it can do any of it any justice at all
for most, this is the closest we ever get

i’m not sure of this poem either; if it can describe to you fully
or in a way that will make it easy enough to understand-
because there isn’t anything easy about any of it, is there?

i keep trying though; keep going really..
because just as the day folds itself into the night
i too worry, about what would happen to me if i stopped