Speak to me;
inundate with your eyes until the fields are awash,
now and forever
in the pink city of my heart where we stand before each other—
and yet willing to bridge the chasm with wretchedness forgotten.
Come what may;
we must convey through a single ignition of this phrase,
taste the saltiness of each other’s views and opinions;
isn’t this what Persephone initially dreamed of?
I have seen many a cloud shudder when the earth’s shook
a cross between blood red and fuchsia—
dear harrowed, hapless and hurting, I am conscious of sharp tang
of emotional trauma and pain,
let your song hurtle through the startled air, uninhibited.
Sweet is the promise of rain after a long drought,
let me be the answer; let me be the answer.
Photo credits: “Rosy Fields,” 9×12 knife painting by Trisha Adams
Laura is our lovely hostess at dVerse where she invites us to let
our imagination be a springboard to the mystical. Come join us! 💝
Posted for Poetics @ dVerse Poets Pub