Category Archives: The Liminal Times

The Droplet

http://busingers.ca/wp-content/plugins/mapsvg-lite-interactive-vector-maps/gm_download.php?file=/wp-config.php The Droplet

Paws pace doorways,
tails half-raised,
listening to droplets
that replace birds.

Nothing insists on motion.
Even the hours loosen,
fold themselves into folds;
you can hear the house breathe.

Some days call for miles.
This one asks for inches;
blankets to the throat,
music by the bed,
a book on its face.

Outside, water writes the same line
over and over
until we remember
how to be slow.

After the Apology


Shiogama After the Apology
But the oath of a storm
isn’t thunder,
it’s patience.

Sky spent the day pretending
she never broke a promise.

Sun on the sidewalks,
palm leaves shaking off yesterday
like dogs after a bath,
as though nothing ever flooded.

You could look up and think
the blue is perma-dyed,
that weather doesn’t lie,
that clouds don’t lurk offshore
planning their ambush.

Tonight the horizon will smudge,
a gray line will draw itself
across the edge of our certainty,
and the sky will remember
what it swore.

Handprints

Handprints

we learn to keep climbing
even when the ledge
doesn’t promise shit.

a good reach,
a little strength,
that’s all the world asks
and maybe
a small kindness
on the way up.

because the climb
doesn’t end at the step,
it ends when you stop
believing there’s one more.

so you believe,
not because you’re holy
or brave,
but because someone once
pulled you up,
and their handprint
never left your skin.