WHEN THE MOON IS NEW
Groping through darkness
knocking everything down.
Down into enormous night
where thoughts unravel.
Memories moan past us as
shadows quiver across walls.
We lie pinned to bed sheets
like captive butterflies.
Dry butterflies...our throats
are brittle, eyes turning
from light. Sore arms reach
for anything soft to hold.
Remembering seasons gone by.
So many lost promises.
This huge moment surrounding us.
Wide awake we wait for the new day.
***
WINTRY BOUQUET
This December
during wide nights
hemmed by blackness,
I remember roses.
Pink yellow red violet
those satin blooms of June.
We must wait six months
before seeing blossoms,
touch their brightness
crush their scent
with fingertips.
Now there are only
ebony pools of winter’s
heavy ink of darkness.
Dipping into memory of
my lips touching petals
tantalizing sweet buds.
My body longs for softness.
I glimpse brilliant faces of
flowers right before me as I
burrow beneath frosty blankets.
Bracing against that long, cold
nocturnal of wind and shadow.
No comments:
Post a Comment