July 2, 2012

poem 209 of a poem a day for 2012

in July’s church of clouds

cicadas patrol the garden gates
singing their stinging reminder
of Summer’s feast of the body
taken in slow savored bites

I am mindful of each ripe drip
of poison and antidote
where laying waste to promise
dances with hope in the words
that I will have wrote

blue sky background
the sound of spill frenzy laughter
arcing in the bowed rain
bending towards noon
on the leaves
from last night’s thunder
it explains why I lean
towards the light
be it fire or Sun
and the billow-vapors of ash
cast as a shaped-gravity hunger
for understanding time

I question myself, sometimes
with my fingers inter-clasped
folding each scolding I give myself
for always crashing before the coronation

sowing this into what I say
see, I accept my failure to see
that I could hold something bright
that Love might be older
than what time can
wrap around today
and no, I don’t mind staying lost
even though I know
places of beauty to pray


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