Summer sits on my
tongue in the
leisure of light

slips through an open
door re-minding me
above the geometry

of our love’s iterations,
in this motion
of ephemera that

you carry me toward
the night, release me,
form around me as I

bestow nothing, only
in the moment of you
– now weightless-

suspended by silken
dreams in a central-self
of my own divergence

discovered in tangents
of their own intercourse
and resolution as

quotidian sun and moon
contemplate shorter
days approaching

in the lonely
glance of autumn.


© K. James Ribble

No Limits

These were the words taken
From the root my mouth, like a shoreline
Breaks across the threshold of silence
Where I only heard your moments

Of trusting

That trust came to me in an honesty I longed
To proffer – that feeling like sighting cliff swallows in
The sun, their fallen streaks of light just bright
Before their time expires in the warming wind

Of trusting

Like the ocean air as strophic, its rhythm filling the
Spindle of every breath you’ve given, where
Honesty is the only vantage point in time, lost
To the epicenter of your view – if only there were time

Of trusting

I’d clear the ossuary of this moment to
The bone of seconds freeing the deepest love
You promised to yourself upon every sense
You’ve never experienced -before the limits-

Where there would be no limits of trusting.


© K. James Ribble – for @aftersalt



love I see
so profound

prepare every
fibre of this body

for you

a castle of light
divine and lasting

to you, your

flower of sighs
breath of parfume

incessant desire
to be one

with you.



where is the point in
time where I begin

and end with you?

How will I know?
Will there be a sign?

I’ve been letting it go
just letting the day unfold

full awareness Immersed
in the lost summer sun

portions of light, of
timelessness and recollection.


Evening’s final thrush
of flourish

in cameo and
amber-pink of dusk

Surrounds me in
the dust of stillness

lays in fields
of my own repose

Calm, the quiet rush
Of evening’s bone.


© K. James Ribble

A Call

announcing gold
Beyond the bullion of an

There lies within the tale
Of the river
Casting its own light

Touching each moment
Of her skin in
The pale green waters,

Every scent of summer
Billowing across the
Temerity of time

Its swim song a bluster
In its wake ensnaring
Her patience like

All my senses ar’rest
In the flowing canticle
Of shadow and grace.


© K. James Ribble


Something conspires to read me
Secondstreched over the

Nomenclature of time where
Minutes find me sitting upon a

Liturgy of failed pardons, the
Scant of Excess relinquished

To lostridden threads of dreams
Like a caress to the softest of lips

These lips of freedom
Have been kissed

Yet after all these years of journey
Decades past in self-discovery

I feel no closer to the answers
Than when I was at the very start …

And that’s okay –
That’s OK.


© K. James Ribble


I walk with her
In the acreage
of neglected dreams
she escorts me to
A realm that sees
the angels sing of time
Gathered in a featherless
touch of Agony
where even Michael weeps

archangel tears of anguish

Such is the nature
of her beauty
Like a satin quill
of starless nights in
A Giverny of lessons I try
to scribe, the whole of
My hope and sacrifice
enstates all,
all to her other-wise –

and even then,
just past the ethos
Of this forest song I sing
I am drawn to
Her eyes of Awe

a frightful and lovely truth
That I am within the pleas
Of her only cost,
the cost of being human
Vulnerable enough
To love as the angels sing.


© K. James Ribble

The Custody of Time

A frail memory floats in
turbid waters of absence

reclining altogether in

satisfaction, undone by the cloister
of whereabouts

moments later, a conversation
about monuments and semantics

reveals more than just words
it’s as though conception has taken

a front seat in this house, this
wanton disrobing of submission

so it goes along

managed forethought only
long after the discussion ended.


© K. James Ribble


Midsummer brings
The ramparts of dawn

To canterfields in a haze
Of Delphic greens

And cornflower blues
Where the silver strands

Of Edifice seek the ocean
Air it cannot breathe,

Here, like a break of light,
You come to me on

The cornerstone of betrayal
Like a semaphore bleeding

Stillsymbols of this city’s
Light-spill casting disparate

The rooftops in sorrow before
Each derision of my soullessness

Becomes a camouflage
Reflection of dry, fraying clouds

As if the cameo of fairness
Grants this day’s night of being

The night now a grey elm
Of strides in elements
Of redress and return


© K. James Ribble


Snow sets to the
South of me and the
Sun, in a blaze with the
Light of Prometheus,
They begin to sing –

All the people sing in a
Language of chorus
So their dialect,

A paramour
Of Forgiveness,

Denies the madness
Mended in divine cost
And tenderness, this
Precedence casts hope

Like a robe clothing
The room in release –

For so many,
The syntax of artistry
And argument will
Spill the ageless
Tears of night.


© K. James Ribble

Day Song

Dusk settles me
In a round filament
Of light casting
Its last strands
Of motion
Through my
Window as
Birds sing the
Day song of evening –
Summer engulfs me
Framing this moment
In a triumvirate of life,
The light, sounds, and breeze
All a millenary of minutiae
Enshrouding the day in
Persian golds, details of love
Like a lapidary of time
Revealing the ornaments
Of my reverie in the earth
As comes my heart
Now comes my rest


© K. James Ribble