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Anvil of Roses
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March 9, 2020
Cecropia
Protected by the brick wall of my garden
Against the chaos of our times,
I watch conjunction of a midnight moth
With honeysuckle blossoms.
A boy named Wilbur intersects the moth,
Wilbur called the moth a hummingbird.
Tonight in some forsaken crucible
Of memory
Wilbur glows a moment and goes out.
Night of Datura
I have heard songs of passion,
I have read histories of oceans,
Fingers, faces.
They tell me nothing
Of that luminous night.
You were aglow in moonflowers
But no moonlight touched you.
There may have been a thrust of swanlight
On your hair.
Cygnus was over us as I look back.
*
Protected by the brick wall of my garden
Against the chaos of our times,
I watch conjunction of a midnight moth
With honeysuckle blossoms.
A boy named Wilbur intersects the moth,
Wilbur called the moth a hummingbird.
Tonight in some forsaken crucible
Of memory
Wilbur glows a moment and goes out.
Night of Datura
I have heard songs of passion,
I have read histories of oceans,
Fingers, faces.
They tell me nothing
Of that luminous night.
You were aglow in moonflowers
But no moonlight touched you.
There may have been a thrust of swanlight
On your hair.
Cygnus was over us as I look back.
*
Displaying 1 of 1 review