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.




Categories: Prose

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

34 replies

  1. Now THIS is one of my favorites! Awesome work, Lucy 😁

    Liked by 1 person

  2. 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

  3. I like this a lot. Really good writing, Lucy. Mesmerising lyrics.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. “; i sit at midnight

    famous blue raincoat

    on my lips, a thunder squirms

            into my body
    

    of stone”

    Truly amazing!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. My heart skipped a few beats ~~ Blue Raincoat one of my favorite Cohen songs … thanks for the thrill.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Beautiful flow across images!

    Liked by 1 person

  7. This is not a letter to yourself… it is your eulogy! Your presence under the flowers and the songs of long dead poets floating with the mist over your grave!
    Well done

    Liked by 2 people

  8. Love these lines, “ghost fingers reach/ to wind the strings” — a testimony to the poets that have bequeathed the music that dry your tears. Just magic, Lucy!

    Liked by 2 people

  9. I am pleased this is not a letter to yourself: it is heart-rending! Very, very beautiful and an excellent and unusual response: I wouldn’t expect any less from you!

    Liked by 1 person

  10. ‘my ghosts…lie in songs their poets dead…they die.’
    That last phrase is lovely.

    Liked by 1 person

  11. 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

  12. Your words mesmerize. I could just get lost in their sounds.

    Liked by 2 people

  13. I think it might be a letter to everyone else… but you are certainly included.

    Liked by 1 person

  14. 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

  15. You have such a flow with your words… And such a great use of vivid imagery!

    Liked by 1 person

  16. Beautiful writing. Sombre-ish

    Liked by 1 person

  17. Powerful writing throughout your blog, Lucy.
    I think this is my favourite so far, but it requires time for me to absorb your lyricism and imagery.

    Thank you for following Sound Bite Fiction.

    Like

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