Month: August 2017

Out the window


Her heart softens over the hedgerows
And she tells him less than she feels
Between streetlights flashing warm and cold
The empty highways through the snow
Months wherein her mouth has closed
She paints the smoking pines, alone

 

 

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Separately


He audits life with his mother

And plays cards with his father

Separately

 

He leaned in for a kiss

On the cheek, a crossette

To seal her answer

 

He never imagined they would become

Like his father and his mother

To rest


Image result for morning dew

Fine and mirthful as he was

To rest I laid him, in the grass

That grew always brightest

And farthest from me

In lathes of cobalt

The clouds fell and he subsided

Pinioned dreams and reproaches

Darkening dark eyes

Of a kind, and all too easy were we

Though I was scarce as solid

As a passing fog, allowing the invention

Of wings and grace and gentle nimbus

Truly, I was never so good withal

And every joy furnished gems of shame

Bedecking the grass that grew

Brightest and farthest from me