Eclipsing

1.
Early morning: crowds begin to gather, randomly, then with purpose,
each with their particulars.
The hobbyists caravan of
telescope & camera, filter & lens,  claiming small bits of ground,
the best views of the sun.
Young couples stroll the waterfront trying on cheap b-movie shades
with anticipating laughter.
A group of children walk single file small boxes made the afternoon before—
two dark walls, a white base and screen,
a perfect circle punched in the middle
to capture the eclipse.		2.
You walk the old fencerow
built by your grandfather,
now struggling against years of repair. Boards that never quite fit,
posts that have softened the earth
a lean along the spine of the thing
that exaggerates the curve of the land.
In winter, the field is green with wheat,
but today, dust and chaff chase circles across the cracking rows.
A flock of birds, some small black kind, burst into flight and blister the blue sky, form a penumbra as they cross the sun,
break, merge, & break apart again retreating into the horizon.

3.
This is how the past betrays us— memories that slowly steal light
like blood through the skin,
eclipsing a tainted muscle of a heart. Forced into the effort, straining,
the body breaks down, flesh stops.
In the low light, 
sifting through afterimages—
a boy’s tentative fingers 
seeking the frets of a new guitar,
your hair draped across my pillow,
the easy celebrations,
always the kiss goodbye.
Separating truth from the satellite
of another’s memory covering your own.
4.
Light sinks through air,
fragile jewelry settling into an ocean.
I don’t want to shield my eyes to this.
The sun holds a shadow in her arms,
empty groove surrounded by cold ring.
In the distance, I can make out Icarus.
Tracing his path with a hollow finger,
I project the point the sun will take him.
How many of us have reached the sun?
Soon, light will walk across the water,
sharp edges returning to palm leaves,
a world newly focused.
The crowd moves, moves, stretches thin
reaching for their every place
in the vanishing darkness.

Previous published online and in print in The Syzygy Poetry Journal

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