~Abrasions of Artifice~

…and she broke me…

Pried from the refrain of words…the posture of a white page and crystal silence~ Snapped back like a wet towel of reality~ I know not all the reasons for my crying~ Something in the welling of moments left unsung~ Testimonies of the broken, falling silent as stars—settling into dust beneath floorboards~ Our moments are squandered by intrusions of light~ Where the moon hangs paled and reticent against midday sky~ Let someone else swallow eternity, we say…before stepping back blindly into abrasions of artifice~

~Alone with the Formula~

*

It

Is low tide:

Native fishermen

Scatter—seemingly walking

On water~ Simplicity of nature~

Skimming only the surface of that

Meridian between sea and sky~

I am drowning in the high

Tide of a numerical equation; less than zero; a negative

Sum~ There is no breath~ No light within

These depths where nature has

Left me alone with

The form-

ula

*

/ Divide /

*Inspired by Kirk Morgan’s “In Prayer to His Goddess”

I

Have not

Cherished him enough

For that which he understands

Above all others~ This preservation of

Mystery~ Covenant of the sacred~ Guardian

Of the ineffable~ This absolute of necessity~ For

That which hands were never meant to touch and

Those words never meant to be spoken~ Tainted

By breath and defiled by the kiss of mortality

Destined for devastation by crafters

Who would exploit the dream~ Only waking dormant

Nightmares~ Adding insult to injury~ The clutched

Words we drive into the earth…soiling the

Sacred~ Damn these roots that

Have forged this

/ Divide /

Between him and I…interrupting

Ephemera~ Where all things

Transitory have no

Beginning

And no

End

~

~Infinitely Smaller~

Ripples break

The silence somewhere

Between rush and fatigue~

All is swallowed and spewed

By the sea~ Whitewashing the

Arrogance of material being

Stone, glass, porcelain~

Hollowed shells

And bullet

Casings

The

Lone

Rubber

Boot has a

Story~ Polished

In decomposition~ Even

The cigarette butt has meaning

I remember when I used to smoke~

Or when I used to eat meat~ I wonder

How many more things I will release

Kiss goodbye without blinking

In becoming infinitely

Smaller

~No Prison in the Poem~

~

You

Plead for more

Of this beautiful nonsense~

Wrapping yourself in my abstractions~

Like cocoon and chrysalis~ You take it all to

Heart~ Take it personally~ But I cannot be

Imprisoned…even within my own poem~

My silence eludes you~ You

For understanding~ You see…I have tucked

The answers outside my own reach~

Thrown away the invisible

Key~ A mystery

Even unto

Myself

~

Leila A. Fortier is a poet, artist, and photographer currently residing in Okinawa, Japan while pursuing her BFA in creative writing through Southern New Hampshire University. Her sculpted poetry is often accompanied by her own multi-medium forms of art, photography, and spoken performance. The use of italics in her text forms a symbolic representation of inner dialog while the tilde lends to the fluidity and continuum of her thought processes. Selections of her work have been translated into French, Italian, Spanish, Arabic, and German in a growing effort to foster cultural diversity and understanding through poetry. With over one hundred publishing credits, her work in all its mediums has been featured in a vast array of publications both in print and online. A complete listing of her published works can be found at: www.leilafortier.com