The fire...
I watch it's serpentine smoke,
it's breath,
rise into the cold night
...
Black sails, against a midnight sky,
he buried his heart on an island.
Some day...
...
It is night now and quietly
a ribbon of moonlight breaks
through the clouds like a
pattern weaver passing it's
...
Anchored 'neath moons harbour,
and waiting for a tide,
I 'spect the beans and rice
will have to subside.
...
We all have poetic moments, though most of the time we simply whisper them to ourselves at night as the shadows crawl slowly across our walls...)
Her Soul Faced The Light
The fire...
I watch it's serpentine smoke,
it's breath,
rise into the cold night
and fall again in an icy cloud
back to the ground...
held there in winters grasp
as it travels down the valley
and off into the moon's shadow.
It is quiet,
and she lays upon my sleepless thinking...
sweeter yet than any dreams
I have kept waiting, filling spaces
like spring after winters long sleep.
Were it mine to give,
I'd cast into the well her wish,
and we'd together watch it land
there upon the pennies she
left beneath the ice.
But though her soul faced the light,
her darkness, it came home...
it stole my sleep.
and now I lay awake,
filling places kept waiting
as dreams give way to night.