pooling a Goddess birthed silence
the wind driven
snow bellowed
magic here
seems to be
painting
the clouds tonight
with an odd
orange belly of rust
in the tress
pin-holing time
brush-pressing it
in kept petal falls
towards the ground
searching cemeteries
to womb
there are no words here
only pine boughs draped
as transfixed as I
each bent slow sway
each swirled stilled
matter of the Moon
each time the air freezes
this realization
that you are
breathing in these
thoughts of her
when everything
fades to white
there is only a certain lunacy here
with a soft wrangle
of chimes
in the distance
that know
to play
the rest
the mute
the note
the savor and
the spill sounds
of angled intricate
of happenstance
of danced chances
taken to begins
every song
sign-points
past the tombstones
past where eyes
are most alive
in the frays and tatters
in the bled pastel
scattered seeds
that leap faith
onto the charcoal sky's
backdrop of needs
EJR (c)
You have such a gift, Edward.
ReplyDelete"there is only a certain lunacy here"
"with a soft wrangle
of chimes"
"the spill sounds
of angled intricate"
"charcoal sky's
backdrop of needs"