Poetry is
wind song
to a troubled summer,
the smell of weightlessness,
on silent lips,
faces blinking remembrance
early as a song falls
and a pearl’s tree moon
missing the time it escaped
a rainy distance
in the sad honeycomb
of hungry bees.
Blue tears,
the world’s river
knowing the horizon,
and a rioting star
longing for late grass
and an apple orchard,
where breeze mirrors meet.
Hope floats as dead fish
in wide eyed misery
in the mire of aching,
gasp in the fresh horror
of the inner voyage
on the torment rack,
sorrow seeds speak
of destiny,
tremors in the dark
of a night’s dissection.
A collapsed shore
shadows rock in a sleepy choir,
the soul’s love ascension
in sharpened senses,
cracked courage, woven guts
for the dying of lovebirds
and a house shakes morning pale
with an evening’s old regret.