There’s A Song

There’s a song,
a whisper that slowly
crescendos,
laying flat against itself
while
quietly
dancing in
between
its own notes.
Often,
so subtle and
gentle,
we
become
the very thing
we aspire
to
be.
We get
to
be the notes
and
the in-between-ness
of everything
all at the same
time.

M.C. Davis

A Rose Remembered

A rose
simply remembered
doesn’t
quite intend
well.
She’s not fragile,
nor
do her petals
dictate
to the sun.
She exists
within
the notes
of every concerto,
but
also
she carries
the
notes in between
that
often
begin
with a whisper.
See, a rose
remembered
is
never
simply
remembered, as
she
is created.
A rose
remembered
only knows of
itself
in
this way.

M.C. Davis

In The Wind

Every so often,
we decide to let caution
flail,
dance in between the notes,
and
precariously
allow the sun to
wipe
away the rain’s
desert stain.
We,
as they say,
are in the wind,
but
unlike most things,
you and I
get
to also
become the
wind.

M.C. Davis

A Chase of Sorts

Let’s chase the moon,
upside-down
and through
the layers,
letting fate
decide what
to
do with our
hands, letting
them
dance like the
sun
does after
she’s
figured out the
necessary
steps
in waking us up.
Let’s
chase the moon,
and
decide where our
feet touch,
allowing the sandy
pieces
to
assemble like ants
do
after a great
feast.
We’re here,
figuring all
of this
out,
and when the moon
has
slowed down,
let’s
bring her into
our
proximity
like the Gods
do
before an afternoon
rain
shower.

M.C. Davis

Much Better

In all of the wisdom
that
saunters
in
between
the
semicolons,
and
the
layers
of words that describe
us,
I get stuck
reading the
lines
where
the poet
forgets
he
has an
audience. I get
lost
in the characters
that
dance
like a summer breeze
does
after
a quick
dampening.
See,
we’re much
better
that we think,
so
let all
these poets
linger in the space
in
between
the in
betweens.
We’re
just getting started.

M.C. Davis