Monday, December 21, 2015


there is something about the light at five o'clock that
moves - transcends - transports
to some ancient mind-place of aquamarine-glossy-greenness
peeling from a 107 year old hallway smelling of cinnamon, shalimar and cherry pie.
this five o'clock twilight shimmers in wakefulness as toes skim carpet
lined by narratives of purpose and tomorrows,
while from a window violet-mullioned,
a single skeleton-elm beckons thread-bare and eager
for a butterscotch-honey connection on the corner of
11th and this cold moon
wake me to this light always ...
wake me to winter's slumbered quest to gaze out the
frosty windows to the ice highways of the plains where river valleys sing of loneliness
sing to me of soul laid hollowed and milk-yellowed to the lily-green of spring
this light … 

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