In the Morning / Full of Sighs and Wonder
Poetry
At the time I wrote it a couple years ago, this piece was my first attempt at fictionalizing poetry from life. By this, I mean it's a pastiche: I can loosely map the setting onto a real place; I can tap into the poem’s emotional core: the surrealism—almost incomprehensibility—of endings. But the scene itself is not a specific memory so much as a composite of various real and imagined experiences. Translation (sorry if this comes as a disappointment!): I've never been dumped on the edge of a cliff.
in the morning full of sighs and wonder you came to me in a russet dress we sat upon a precipice listening to the waves dash themselves on jagged rocks below you told me we had run our course— I said I understood but my eyes were on the face of a pale moon hovering behind a blue sheen of sky over water rushing endlessly away away away toward faraway shores