Anvil-Stamped In The Office Poem by Lonnie Hicks

I careen between the iron cross
caring and need
and you play midnight cello moaning tones
from it emit your voices.

I sit in the executive chair
in corporate blue
my bow string
drawing intensities
from nebulae
from which my star was born;
it exploding
willingly
because it senses
your desires
circling
in Maypole Spring's Dancings.

Sometimes
all is in the yearning
not in consummation
because the former is perfection
and the latter too risky;
thus we anvil stamp
in misty nights
and allow souls to rise
and meet
and that us often enough
for eternity

allowing us the purity
having resisted
pressing
hungry
inevitabilitites
for the time being.