since the day I met you, I have searched for this word. this big, beautiful, gigantic, glorious word to describe you. us. I am incapable of such a feat.  the weight which we hold defines and transcribes over and over which was born yet never fails to die. I am alone to carry the burden. kismet. but yet more than fate.  in Moirai white robed souls threads spun from the gods alone do not touch the etymology of us. Saudade by José Ferraz de Almeida Jr. saudade. other words bearing no translation its meaning too sacred for a tongue. I remember you.  you recollect me.  mutual longing to never return. but you're still here, aren't you? always here. somehow becoming the intrusiveness of my dreams dust on wrinkled photographs and cologne from triggered memories. in and out of me. through me. So I seek another word. perhaps hiraeth. homesickness for a place you cannot return to.  and over and over in my mind this word, this beautiful, gigantic,...

time In its most wicked state tastes of sour lemons, molded from uncare aware of its presence. life is frailty. love, it's burden. carried upon backs that once moved mountains the stones throw away, now too much effort  to give freely what shouldn't be yearned for. his smile, a memory. happiness trapped in a hourglass to the choices present. stranger, in same being joy you disallow time a ribbon of history unraveled if I known then, what I know now.  -b.r.rivera Recommended Reading

Wrists are scraped slightly on warm metal bars kissed by the sunshine. Somewhere, clickity clackety plastic things numbs the street air  in electric buzz from spokes creating musical noise in its own rhythm. I turn back to look at her, she smiles. Shirt ballooned by wind ushering me to continue before I slow her down. Our mission of  10 cent Popsicles and quarter bag of chips are relentless in the haze of summer and sweltering sun. memories now a blur. Mommom calls us, her voice a beacon in the city of  asphalt and pavement which we spill upon and she immediately nurses.  street lights fade to Black replace lightning bugs abuzz in  Neon twirling into our smiles  of small conversation and popped bubble gum defying gravity on fire escapes  dangling toes a reminder of our landmark. Finally, a small breeze pollen upon dewy knees to greet us  good night summers of nostalgia  birthed from bike spokes. ~b.r.rivera ...

I wish I were an artist. Trace your curvature of lines in vivid detail and remark on the thickness smooth lips as they intense with hues of graphite and stencil. Wish I could paint vividly. an encased reverie of just you and I to become we. oh, how I wish to be the stroke on your body and retrace its endings and firm beginnings, retold in pastels, water soluble paints and revamped historical perspectives. I only wish to capture the image of you. Recapture the soul and eyes of orbs encased in the human skull so hard to shift elements in globs of watercolor. tell tales of high cheekbones and broad shoulders free following of a pencil in raised eyebrows and sympathetic frowns. A white eraser clings nearby, swiftly chasing hopes and dreams, lines drawn dark holed black and now vanishing  in dematerialized crumpled portraits. -b.r.rivera Poem 22 of 30, April 2012 #30in30