Awaiting

Awaiting

I am becoming more of my father and of my mother. It's not something visible at the mirror nor is it a set of enumerable attributes.

Though, at times, like the wink of a sight or the stare of a light, it feels their presence could be in that very same light or wink.

As when I approach you, because I would like to continue myself in you, there is no believing or understanding about it; it simply is so and that's the meaning of knowing.

So I know, because I don't have to think or put on any feeling, that when you're here, near me, we are becoming one. It is a matter of time, an inner routed collision will be our next momentum.

© 2017, José Coelho

Trinomial

Trinomial

The sun. The

son nurtures there is

no more waiting

at the window, the sun

burns particles, yellow

dust, spring fine dust

exhaling. Anxiety upon

waiting arrives as soon as

the sun hides. Behind curtains

the son and nearby

walls breathe. The yellow

dust descends

appeasing.

© José Coelho, 2015

He's draining me

sticking to it

nothing more or

less

we a have a son

my son

he's draining me

slowly, steadily

sucking the liquid

water

from this side to

his guts, on my request

I blow out, he in

and it works

my hope

at the end of the

day

we'll have the baby

pool ready for

delivery

© 2014, JC