Sunday, August 2, 2015
Friday, July 24, 2015
|Lovers in the Field|
In the season of the taxman, in the dying days
of drought, I love to scan for rainclouds
reflected in your eyes. You know to look up:
beyond present fears, the future promises
inevitable regeneration in your greenest eyes.
Love, I am honey in your hands, heated
to a golden flow past reason, past doubt,
the prisoner of every word, and song.
You know the answer – you are the bad advice
not taken, the mail that lies unanswered
but kept close for certainty of the beloved hand
that wrote the lines that need never be spoken.
I find you in the blank pages of my notebooks,
in my poems that are waiting to be written.
With words provided by Grapeling's Get Listed! at The Imaginary Garden.