Red lipped, I wait like spring-tide
as salt grass and anemone blossom in cycles
set up by the moon;
listen closely I am explaining a few things—
holier than holy is touch,
every point of contact feels as though water on fire
it’s simple and yet indescribable;
a rush of energy that speaks volumes in comparison to words.
You ask me what significance there is to Poetry?
I’ll enlighten you, but briefly!
A luminous vessel expanded in the secrecy of dark earth,
its depth and meaning cannot be unraveled petal by petal
without a ransom of tears.
I am twilight
choosing to plant a handful of seeds until the sun goes down—
I know not jealousy nor do I care for spite,
my sky opens each day like a peach cut in half;
only momentarily, yet too long.
Does the wind know of patterns formed and left behind?
Imagine her joy when she sees ripples near the lakeside,
there are things that the blood needs to hear—
such is my state, who knows
what I might write under the heady influence of August—
my eyes heavy lidded with sleep do not close over his image
without a sigh;
I am explaining a few things.
Photo credits: Jan De Vliegher artwork, Pinterest
Poem inspired by the title of Neruda’s poetic masterpiece 💝
Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United