Poems by Timothy Pilgrim

WINDING UP WINDING DOWN

Memories swirl by un-queued, like a top
spinning, wobble, mere beginning
of turning to un-spun. Dreams

askew — blur of gold, fuchsia,
white, blue, careen to blackness,
dizzy journey along sunset frozen red.

I carve a last whistle from willow,
cliff-paint mantis, stilted, still,
sculpt ravens in salt, outline them

with snow. I forget lies, slights,
crawl diapered in circles ever more wide.
Fear the final letting-go,

I don’t know you, call you evil,
wish you dead. Bitter end of the end,
I forgive myself, then forget.


AFTER THE TITLE

comes more memories, iced,
their color, blue. Similes signal

another interlude. Regret
guides the cursor, moves

my fingers down. Cruel slights,
to begin, go, sleep alone, no more

midnight swims, no forested hike
to meadow, camp, fish, count stars,

spoon all night. Stoke the echos
with reluctant strokes, let regret

spill over line edge, plunge deep
in pool below, struggle to surface,

float. Admit love tossed, the loss,
let pulsing guilt stream out.