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Monday, April 19, 2010

Berries from the Bush

the nocturnal lights -- in our home village
aligned to its fields and community halls --
had called us to dance in the dark,
                  we were so young
foolishly erasing any thought that
encased a future without the other, forgetting to
memorise the present to preserve its history;
                  we courted in secret, feeding our
hungry mouths with berries from the bush,
and biting down deep, tongues bleeding
under a postern moon
dawning open in the wall of a
harvest sky; we harvested each other
ripe in youth as the village slept
yielding to the dark that kept you and I,

such intimate ramblings -- like these memories
that wander the night of the mind, turning
into impalpable ash as they burn nightly,
                  a single touch
just makes them fall away into
the twilight, where everything
opens it sails towards the blue;
                  fixing their ways
under the stars to
come towards those isles of yours
where you still wait for me;

and where we'll lie near the fire
once again, red-ember bodies of the log,
honey glazed deep in the red,
                  how we'll push through the bed
of the very skin of sleep to wake
every sense we need
                  to keep feeding the fire,
we'll melt into the air as aromas, light, and ember,
where everything carries me back again to you,
as though everything that exists
under the sky was a
promise from me to you.

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