With This, That’s All.

One could find the rare, rare amend,
May it be the return of the archaic,
But even I drag it out upon the turf.
The reeds and their humid song (stray dreams)
Upon the strides and twists,
Prance the endoskeleton of the walnut tree,
(Its leaves ambushing dry land)
Just as the birds vacate from the power-lines.

One could find the forthright ghost,
Late at night, the night clocks out.
I lie in bed, dimmed to the ceiling.
The reeds and stones,
And the ghost thought of a past friend,
Prance the endoskeleton of the walnut tree,
(Its leaves ambushing dry land)
Just as the birds vacate from the power-lines.

All could be said, as that hand chalked,
Should I beckon a glance,
Faintly at your own word,
Breathe the sorrow and skim
Of self and life?

I stride and cross,
(The twist, the twist).

Thoughts bygone—
My past friend,
Your former lovers, friends and acquaintances;
Estranged, the maiden so fair,
Hyacinths to those, to all herself.

© 2019 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: