I speak rightly –
set not my words to music,
nor douse them in tune to vast breaths
I am among you as mortal,
still. But, please, breathe freely –
at least for a time,
then let me be to eager rests’
devoted arms –
of course your strewn petals,
benign at my feet,
speak calmly of foe and friend –
draw me close to your wondrous
adoration; so separate me not from music’s glow
when such fragments tear you
into fractious, scattered pieces –
and so it is perhaps that great art’s worship
be confined to symbolic gesture.
I am not lost, and I am not gone
whilst echoes play
with such innocence
and voices call me. I am translucent.
Gleaned from me is the skin you were denied.
I am always yours. I am diaphanous.
Cool air sighs
under satin drape
where rivulets of soft undulations
raged an ocean of love
undercover in the dark;
moonlight’s soft sheen
skips on ripples, peaks and troughs
of fluttering folds on shined skin,
like laced pansies
spreading over the surface.
Quadrille ~ a 44 word verse.
What are you doing
that I can’t be?
What is it occupies your thoughts of me?
Who stands in the light that
both shadows dancing in the flames?
Where can you be now
that I won’t see?
What longings are seeping deliberately?
Who finds them and binds
both shadows melting in the flames?
Your fingertip is touching fire,
is that you for me?
When I can no longer feel it, you reach for me,
like the fire atop the tallow’s
both shadows make candlelight’s flames.