"The door, the color of the twilight, opens"

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Bob Sward's Writer's Friendship Series

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Issue 13: Free Form

Issue 12: The Necessary Ear

Issue 11: The Necessary Eye

Issue 10: Out on a Limb

Issue 9: The Missing Body

Issue 8: The Lily

Issue 7: Passages

Issue 6: No More Tears

Laurel Szymkowiak

Whatever That May Be Today


Now enter the familiar,
lush with chanting children heads,
with the sanity of the guitar,
and the hope of the violin,

working its magic song in the upper part of life.
Maybe it's the familiar draining away, the sound
of a trusted friend not heard from
for so long I am unwilling
to quit this journey. It is shifting twilight

the passageway time
the entrance time. The door, the color of the twilight, opens
at the horizon with twilight shallow steps that lead
to a brief passage which speaks of what is now
and moves in that direction.
I am the color of smiling sand sprinkled in the seams.


When I was falling upwards,
we drew straws--
you lost as if you'd been
listening between two fires.

There, but then
uploaded and empty handed,
it was a matter of time
before you cornered in the shadow.

The order of business came,
offering all that these times
allow, which was more
than time itself.

Pass not around the ring
but through it, softly and
towards the sun.


It was your destiny
to save me. You broke my feet
and breathed over me
with your turned r's.
Fly on green wings
and feel the unknown
before it all fades to tan.

The slinking strings will not let me
hear you when you call to me.
For when you are lost,
I am found. I've nicked a vein
and smile to smell the blood
and know that I am nearly you.