Brush me aside
to murky forest depths,
lay against me
like the snowy steppes,
and dare to drop me
as the morning dew.
---
Taste of me
my night's breath,
of meadow-like perfume
whispering through bluebells and lupine,
and the wings
of whistling thrushes.
---
Clobber me against
stoic cliff-side,
drain me helplessly
through tranquil high passes
and traverse my currents
by way of verdant mountain cathedrals
and swim into me,
through and through.
***The seasons are what captured me in this poem, winter in particular.
---
How crept in the warmth
of lucid thought
on this snow-veiled meadow
where summer’s rent is past due
and life’s impetus is bent
on suckling spring,
I cannot guess?
---
But imagine for a moment
life cast out
into winter’s clutch,
where treetops poke up
through snow,
where snow devils foxtrot transversely
through moonscape,
where the unyielding rock lichen
bite into cliff-side,
where jovial scarcity is enough
for life here.
---
Progress forward,
And winter is not lost
to those summer-imbued meadows,
for as fine as the mysteries I shift,
as desperate their dance,
I know any enlightenment
is but in mock abbreviation
to meaningful answer.
---
And yet are any necessary?
---
Let winds scatter,
moonlight shine down,
blue day fade to black night.
Give me a tangible body,
you milk-eyed, blushed-cheeked hope
and I will remember winter’s breath
in this dragon’s land.
This poem is about Dawn, as the name implies. I imagined myself traveling the world round with the Sun, always in morning, never in darkness, never truely in day.
---
Sit down my dear passenger,
- speak to me Oh Morning,
for as desperate the hours
of fluid darkness
spilling into my bones,
there exists in me a flaming furnace
that rages without rest,
without stopping,
without reprieve!
For all dreams
and expectations you have
rest in me
and my light.
So shore up your sleepy eyes;
accompany me Oh Morning
around and spinning
ever drifting into the world awakening.
Do not fear the smoky darkness
burning in my stead.
Out from it you are,
a new day
ever on the shores of crashing waves,
frothy clouds,
and sand-abundant shadow
of tree,
of mountain,
of city.
And the colors of our tryst
blooming, cursing, loving
they are my dear passenger
days fleeting…
