Darkly overhead on wings of dead-and-gone
to woods where feeble ferns are teeth, and tongues
where from the drying throats: a suitors’ voice
a praise of clay and stone, demanding choice:
Of scars: a legacy to rot: a quest
to cage her as the uninvited guest.
She seeks the pressure of his booted heel.
She meets his ember heat that make her feel
his naked heart of ash and icicles
When warmth has slipped it’s no more difficult,
she meets the paleness of the reaper’s scythe
and in the miry paths, his woods, the blithe
of dreamless sleep and once again my girl:
the treasured child becomes protected pearl.
Once again we have Open Link at dVerse, and Mary is hosting. Bar opens at 3PM EST. I hope I’ll meet you there.
September 3, 2015