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Saturday, April 28, 2007

Star Kindling

Our Place

I've been back to our place,
the breeze still wanders lost
by the lake, high in the masts
of the trees, and beneath the clouds,
it gusts now at that dip
in the road where we first met,

it throws itself wailing
on all travellers to ask the way
back to our sudden little river,
that made us jump as though
it were an unexpected snake,
back to those corn fields

that never lay fallow
to a fermentation of souls
thirsty to drink, to taste
harvested bushels of scent
clinging from swaying bodies,
wheat and wind toiled in play;

a dying sunset kindles the stars,
I spark the undying memories in me,
glimmering and vast
my recollection grows,
so does the wind,
but I seem to grow smaller

as I lead it to our place,
it wants to tarry awhile,
as we once did, dizzyingly sowing
kisses each ending
in the small loss
of farewell to a friend,

kisses hastily returning
like reuniting lovers
or ghosts to haunt the face;
how your damp hair hung
more beautifully
with the final bloom of sun,

how I would pray
you'd never fade away,
how the wind now hums its own
mad soliloquy in the emptiness
of our place, more vast than
heaven's carriageways

that mark the tracks
of tiny wheels
on which lives turn,
the wind and I burn in unison,
this necessary leaving
moves uneasy with me,

as the darkening rooms on high
light candles for the journeying,
fading hope calls to
something inside our place,
knowing it'll never see,

nor this desperate wind
uselessly shake,
in any fraction
of the sky's soiled hue,
the stars I saw
ignite in you.

____________________

An Epic Tale

in a hot noon doze,
love is the cold water
sprinkled on your feet;
or fingers rubbed in fire,
it burns cold palms
by a stoked up stove,

it's a secret garden
irrigated by heated seas,
bordered by the strongest wall
that defends when all
else falls,

it's a climbing moon,
with moonbeams that shrink
with the coming rain,
tiny captured light
refusing to die shines
brighter in the night,

it's a prayer in you,
stronger than any holy
appetite that measures
a hunger for eternity,
it's faith in make-believe
that comes true
without fail,

it's the knowledge
you can sing all songs
with no voice at all,
it's all the poems
and stories,
with every one you tell,
it's the unfolding
of an epic tale.

Read more of my poems >>

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© CC License 2004-14. Unless otherwise stated all poetry, prose and art are the original work of the blog owner.