This night.

summer, pilgrimage of the ewe; the blood sun breaks upon death—

is the symmetry of the flower where an ocean throws the moon’s noose,

leaving to the knot of a darker azure? dream, and you might

too leave in the white rose of lips; sewn a monolith 

exchanging, in perfidy, a child at the river

its maddening leavetaking, tucked in the shawl, a fellness of

gold nursed at the fingertips dead and drowning,

for the illumine, like a dream, but it was no longer; memory was the

brass to the black heart of the rose, low-necked to mourn.


Written for the dVerse prompt today, using lines from Dorothy Lawrenson’s poem September. Truth be told, this is most likely one of my darkest poems, taking heavy inspiration from This Night Has Opened My Eyes by The Smiths.


27 thoughts on “This night.

  1. More darkness\, reflecting perfectly the chaos and turmoil within these Trumpian days, this hellish haze. Are we inhabiting the “last of days”? Who will survive, and what will they learn?

    Liked by 2 people

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