Return

Puddle-jumping across the mesa, bathed in

bleached echoes of distant nights,

she came.

 

Masked in moonbeams, draped in deerskin, holding

her hands upturned and open.

 

I offered her my softest stone.

She took it.

 

And weeping as she leapt, returned the same

way she came: one jump for every tear.

 

Crimson skies spreading to charcoal in her wake, she leaves me

with the strangest scent in trade … the smell of drumheads

and duct tape.

Reviews

[Monday Parker]

Wow...Very strange and magical at the same time. I love your wording and the way it flows...My favorite line is "Masked in moonbeams, draped in deerskin" -I get this image of this Indian beauty...I really like this poem. Great Job!!!