What Was Ours

This is a sestina about the people I've known and the fond memories I have of them.

Summer swinging, you came breathing
Through the screen door in unison
In a frenzied fixation, our eyes were new,
Thirsty, clear stalactites and we took what was ours
The day, because we could. Because it slides-
Our all the time in the world

Acoustical fudge and berries, it's the chords the world
Needs now. Or more of the hollow breathing
Pulsating each ear, the white terrier slides
Down the linoleum. He's more of a son
Than a dog. More of a son than that Chia Pet of ours
Red serrated ceramic with peppery seeds, a new

Sprout to wriggle out the cranium. Identifying new
Patterns of phrenology, foretelling leakage of world
news. He'd ring the line for six hours
Straight at least, singing high, he's Evita until we're breathing
The word "tomorrow" in unison
Tomorrow, upon the floor the green plastic slides

Our filmy lips collide. And we're all searching, our eyes slide
To the left and upwards for that possible nu-
Ance to be left by the swinging of the sun.
Spiraling onto the dewy lawn , shouting each word the world
Wants to hear. Our throats breach, collapse, left breathing
Words repeating, "the world is ours!"

Fixing to the place below the steeple for hours
We'd adjust the F stop, reeling the negatives, and slide
Down the banister, singing Nat King Cole. Breathing
Lenses focus snapshots of life new
With magnolia bunches, the girl rose red, in the world
Kaleidoscope arranged by the splintering sun

Don't you tell me to deny it, I'm sun-
Dered from the heliocentric orbit of ours
That hides below the cityscape. It's aloof in another world
And nobody here is swinging. All to see are slides
Of photographs of places and the people I once knew.
And it's the regret down my neck breathing

It's not my world as so vicariously it slides
Behind the sun, behind what was ours
It's all new, but it's not at all like breathing

Author's Note

This is a sestina.