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life
is the disappearing edge
of
a well-worn blanket fraying threadbare --
easy
to ignore, until the unraveling is beyond repair
..
|
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from
the bleached bone groves
shedding
white bark naked
stems
of rebirth scratching
an impressionist’s sky
to
the strea..
|
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What
do you feel, when you look out
of
a clear window-- a glass door --
and
the moon is suspended low in the sky:
orange hazed face c..
|
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my
eyes have adjusted to Eos’ rosy fingers --
the
waking Queen beyond my casement fans her fronds
to
form shadow wings upon my wal..
|
 |
colored
spines line crowded shelves --
index
finger absently tracing titles, I choose
where
to escape, as afternoon light paints
shad..
|
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the
prince, it seems, has vanquished me --
made
not a bride out of this flesh, but
a
bested opponent-- foot to chest victory --
in..
|
 |
tomorrow’s
leaves are falling today --
dropping
like stars from the branches of my tree,
not
quite dying, but sick-- on the edge --..
|
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the
moon is the bleached bone heart
of a lost goddess,
exiled to a black vault
static
--gone-- but still giving away her light
..
|
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I
am aware of the sand beneath my vulnerable feet,
as
I walk the frothy line where land and water unite,
balancing
like some circus per..
|
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that
moment when you know
beyond
knowing --
sharp right at the last stop,
turn down a dead end street,
and
suddenly you are that ..
|
|
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