Restless – Cecilia Borromeo

It is that perennial immateriality dwelling between living and dying
crouched in the corners and grappling by the hinges
only to remain unseen;
We weave our web of what we believe we understand
of the relationship of our acts and events
only to remain misunderstood;
From that odd wisp of steam of heated discussions
to the urgent hiss of a new page calling;
I teeter on that thin ice —
That single space of uncertainty —
And I ask

What am I doing here?

– Cecilia Borromeo

(image courtesy of Pinterest)


the springs seem to last forever
as you sleep bare in clustered sand
to stand the sweep
of a foamy wave
just on the fence of frost

to have lost track of time
at such a cost, to wake up
in a month of August
with peeling skin
eyes baring

a polarity to behold,
just as branches rid and fold
and you see earth
littered with shattered mirth,
shine lost

under the cover
of a glacial sequester
seeds sewing roots
deeper, closer, instilled
a pregnant will

that will fulfill at the shrill
of first signs of life
the first touch of sunshine
your long awaited

– B. Brown

(art by Beatriz Martin Vidal)