Setting

Shadows on the waves,
Sunlight on the cliff side, 
The sound of screaming gulls, 
Sudden thoughts of suicide. 

Staying at a distance
A reference to a lost kiss, 
A vision of a different time, 
Our bodies broken on the cliffs.

What is the sound of a setting sun? 
The noise of a broken heart? 
Snapping and bending
A piece in a thousand parts.

 Sunset

Sunset in Southern California. 
Blueberry cream on peach, 
A dreamy foam is cast into the open, 
And coats the distant buildings in an effervescent heat. 

A cool breeze is blowing in palm trees, 
And innocence has shed its light on me, 
Off the shore I’d be melting in the ocean, 
Extend my arms to cast my stringy shadows in the streets.

By the StreamLight

A year's worth of waiting 
Evaporated in a soft embrace
In the shadows beside the stream light. 

The day spent in anticipation 
Of orange and pink cascaded on errant waves 
And finally in romantic splendor, 
Amid the grey vessels where mere hours before 
Many colors cast,
Glimmered the unblinking eye, 
Spacecraft, 

Dry brushstrokes filled the foggy horizon, 
A textured veil rippled across the face 
Of unseeing vigilance. 

But, it wasn’t until darkness had slowly had its grip, 
Near where dusty rodents danced in dusk reveries, 
Where petaled corium met adamant integument, 
That all things became clear, 
Stationary for a moment. 

This was the lost kiss, 
Moons past, 
Here in the dark, 
Beside the stream light.

A Bad Pun

In my head the terms blended; limbic and limb darkening. They are very different things. But there is a cool interplay between the solar and the psychological, so I wrote this:

Limbic darkening? 

The way the center-observed is brighter than its edges, receding into space. 

At the fringes of your mind are the discarded things, or so it would seem, center-observed. Shadowy, unobtrusive to an observer. 

Only the warmest, thickest, closest is bright and center stage. 

Picturing a sun trapped by the bones of the head, and it’s sides scraping its enclosing structure. There below where the skull meets the star is a dark passage that leads to the shaded limbs. 

The blended things, nuanced and unclear. Shame for pride, self contempt, happy that your feelings are hurt to justify some undeserved hatred. 

True feelings, that are as hot and bright but viewed from the side they seem cooler and darker and far off. Not as deep. 

Burning and being observed make a mind and make a star.