under any flower.

this is not a letter to myself

quickly the moon

is forever i say that sometimes

these ghost fingers reach

            to wind the strings

and twist the whitecaps

upon the bridge; i sit at midnight

famous blue raincoat

on my lips, a thunder squirms

            into my body
of stone

voice nothing, where I moved

through midsummers dead

a miracle

to keep still until it vanishes

and I am wrapped

by my hands, spinning under any flower

until fingers bear

my ghosts, eating this lady and air,

eating my skin clean to calloused-tips

            to lie in songs

their poets dead, close to

stars and the sun, a mist now

they go, taking away

my tears; they die.

© 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.


Written for the dVerse prompt.


33 thoughts on “under any flower.

  1. I have seen the universe in a blade of grass, but to look beyond under any flower expands my cosmic realms to a place where infinity dwells…. your finale stanza.. for me was poetically exquisite.

    ” to lie in songs
    their poets dead, close to
    stars and the sun, a mist now
    they go, taking away
    my tears; they die.”

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I love this poem, Lucy! All of our poems are letters to ourselves, even if we deny it. There is gorgeous imagery in this one, especially the lines:
    ‘these ghost fingers reach
    to wind the strings
    and twist the whitecaps
    upon the bridge’
    and
    ‘on my lips, a thunder squirms
    into my body
    of stone’.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Such a lovely flow of enjambment with thought-provoking visuals…..
    “spinning under any flower

    until fingers bear

    my ghosts, eating this lady and air,

    eating my skin clean to calloused-tips

    Liked by 1 person

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