March 29, 2010
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Poem from March 20
Morning of Vernal Equinox
From the window, a touch of dry lips
a song of breath, a pierce of beauty,
a groove in the record, hair of wheat and raven,
an artistic hollow, hands cupping ashes.From the window, silver streaked beams of moon,
the fire in my head, sulphur stale in my lungs,
red wine in the small of a lover’s back,
the sweet smell of grass blades and morning glories.From the window, decaying leaves abandoned by autumn,
a Sunday rest with Blake and Thomas,
rumbles of growth, sunlight, and frogs,
urban priestesses hiding from mirrors.From my window, the haze of pollen, green, and water,
a grasshopper with yellow blood in its veins,
a glass of iced tea sweating on the veranda
in the cradle of a morning like this.
