Rhythms: “a late summer of consciousness” by LJ Frank

Unfinished. LJ Frank. Artist

scribblings

on a yellowed sheet of paper

placed in a book on a shelf

seldom visited save chance

words written

with abandoned passion

stirrings redeemed

my body’s clock retains its intimate cadence 

irrespective

of any technological pulse

 

and as the sun rose

with morning impatience  

I drove towards a remembrance 

departed from as a youth 

a fondness I kept to myself

 

age has few conciliatory notes

and poise is an acquired skill

and the genetics of my seasoning

oblige

being honest with self

though out of spiritual courtesy 

an extension would’ve been polite

for the hour I reached the memory 

the former village

was gentrified with a purpose 

and recognition was nowhere in sight

like a dramatic actor who discovers

the stage they stepped on to 

was a dress rehearsal for a comedy

 

so, I hiked to the nearby lake’s edge

with trust in recollection 

a worn canoe sat alone with a graying paddle 

wanting of a former life

and being rather adventurous

paddling would come with a price

the small vessel filled with water 

the other shore was now out of reach

as if yesterday  never existed

still

a vision arrived as a tear formed

from the cool air

of people gathering around a campfire

and the sound of elated voices

in the late summer of my consciousness

 

wading back to shore

a reflection was wishing to be noticed

looking over my shoulder

the misty blur of two people appeared

next to the heat of a fire

seeking a home within their hearts

through the whispering touch of each other

the poignancy of warm feelings

dispersed in the air like sparks

emotions linger then vanish

fading like the sunset

bright showers of red and yellow

painted on the canvas of deep blue

and time bends memory

into another life.