THE HIDDEN TRACK

The following passages are dedicated to Leopold, to the vernacular, to certain evil women (you know who you are), to certain wonderful people(they know who they are), to soft afternoons and quiet Sunday evenings, to Fall and seeing your breath for the first time since Spring, and to Isabelle Ya Feng ... a soul slipped by like two ships passing in the still, moonlit sea.
-- Abraham Ahmed, the Surfing Beatnik



In the Night...

In the night, when all matters of life become mute save for her breathing next to me, I bask in the love that radiates from her, that pours from her soul as she sleeps unaware of my watching her.

“I am so thankful for you.” I say and place my hand on her thin, milky arm and smile at her ring.

I turn to the ceiling and consider her existence upon this earth at the same exact time and within the exact same fabrics of space as me. The layers of she and I pass through my head, unceasing, as my lover rolls over and sews one of her legs within my knees and sighs softly back to sleep, back to me.



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