Celine Socrates

...

We come to the conclusion
that falling stars bear
the weight
of a child’s fingers groping for
...

Silence is how one addresses the need for depth; when poverty for words becomes a mere exercise of virtue, a rite of passage to scars. Small wounds clot with time, until all that is left is the stiff coating that shreds off at the slightest movement.

Forgetting is so easy, once scars have ceased to be.
...

The bronze knob fits
inside my fist like
handshake.
...

We are pressed
between
the Before and the After,
...

She thinks of fractures;
a series of dawns
outside planks,
their warmth captured in
...

When you reach the peak of the summit
and find for yourself a seat
in the rough slope of a large rock
jutting out of the earth,
...

(After Eliot)

We have gone, you and I
When the dark embraced the night
...

I lost you to the stars
that distant night along
the damp pavement,
after the rain
...

Always, you are to be haunted
by the aftertaste leaves
shriveling into their veins,
birds faltering across the atmosphere
...

Tell me how must we begin to speak
about beauty what words to use
to talk about
colors diffusing into light
...

Silence is the language
proper to mysteries:
you, thrusting yourself into
the fractures of time
...

There it is, walking through the fine line
of being and non-being,
straddling the space between what is said and unsaid.
This world depends too much on
...

They must have some explanation,
these fragments of human thought
bearing the mark of the world
you hide within you,
...

Is this how poetry articulates the unbearable:
clocks melting into the sand, the horizon stretching forth
into an endless uncertainty,
something we cannot recognize dying before our eyes.
...