mosaic.

I wake slowly to Chet Baker, the

sullen notes sliding against the walls

through the emptiness of rooms,

sweeping past my cheek at daybreak

I have written these poems,

hundreds of times

reliving our demise and rebirth

another drawing, ouroboros

there is your left eye, my hair

in sunlight, the scar

on your wrist, your lips

even when you slept next to me

you drove east, dragging

my heart behind your car, the

Bridgers in your rear view mirror,

deceit and worship swimming

in your mouth like eels

crossing Lake Street I glance to the sky

through branches, a pair of ravens

I want them to tell me why, my feet

in rhythm on the snow and ice

restructuring the shards you left me

© 2.19.2016 heather brager

deluge.

in the scarlet moment of drowning

when I inhale, gasp, inhale

exhale, repeat

in the matter of what seems a second

you are unaware of your cold fingers

the dull ache, the firm grasp, the

loss tangled within my hair

clutching my face and neck

your fingers no longer entwined

in my empty hands

peering down at my body

a pale shadow drifting through dusk

I doubt our existence and

beauty, tranquil limbs

a gentle heap of weightless bones

paralysis, the immeasurable silence

before surfacing will save me

© 2.18.2016 heather brager

february.

through smudged windows, looking northward

over damp landscapes swathed in nightfall

the eye of the mind knows the heart, and

she knows you from another time, a

recollection beneath chasms of flame

ardor pulled tight to your chest, the brazen words

parting quietly with lilies in the morning mist, a

wandering grief veiled behind your eyes

© 2.4.2016 heather brager