November Blush
/
red in dogwood -
how softly I have been
mastered
red in dogwood -
how softly I have been
mastered
trapped
between night's shelter
and day's ruin
the black moth
tires against the screen
to waste water
is to starve hope
and that is why
we hungrily sleep
apart my love
In summer there are clever places that hold storms and sun-streaks entangled forces nourishing paradox of the thirstiest kind
In summer the rain can fall hot onto pavement and the carrots taste a little like dirt making everything organically better
In summer my fingers carry essence of Romas and plates of basil to picnics of poison ivy near the lake's unending beck and call
In summer campfires conjure whiskey truth or dares foreshadowing forest favors of autumn's gateway to the pinnacle preceding unwanted paths
In summer I try to forget how you are beyond the hands of man slipping in and out as ancient lovers do for the sake of ending
birds fall from the sky
and the children brunch on mortar -
how scrawny words become
we leave the dead behind
and it's the same as staying -
our sanctuary withheld in the horrific
ancient undoings
find modern expression
and so man remains a beast
forever less-than
while we sit
eating scrambled eggs
and watching Fox News
choosing sides
from gleaming glass houses
black bra strap
cutting the curved glacier
cinnamon tresses
waiting for fingers
sunlight's shoulder
softly softly