untitled 08.03.06

black and white by the page,
the gusty gap between words and lines –
pen to paper, thought to sentence:
fin to fish, fish to current –
contact made for the tide –

it’s a letter – a poem – an article –
insufficient. water frozen. tide pool.
spray over the rocks, clutch of shells.
what does it mean? what could it mean?

* * *

a whisper against the ebb,
swirling siren around legs and feet,
a wake of salt and seaweed
cut across the sand
beneath a fading blood moon.
the sun blooming as it crashes
into the water – untouched, unsaved
by the whisper that swept by,
taking the candle flames with it.

* * *

loaded, a fear of pleasure,
no record of anger –
where would such a soul go?
where would it come from?

grace without sound,
mercy without a scent,
desecrated beyond flesh,
murmured with meals and
scattered for the feet of the dead…

no rice for the corpse,
no birds for the brides,
no keening trumpet for alarm.

* * *

the stolen night rises up,
leaving the page of the evening folded.

white stars tower, red stars tower
blinking in the purple mist –
windows closed, curtain lowered.

going home, following the voice
of streetlights and street signs.

---
MWL
accepted end: 12.18.06