nocturne #437

where is this landscape
of concrete moons and linen stars?
what galaxy suspends
the corporeal against the delectable
between golden plains of breath
your form lies curled--naked upon a snowy owl's bed
of winter's wait and gather
i am a feather there

pressed
vigilant

your scent pervades the shadows--
whiskey, apples, airports
your perfection belies
your mystery
your fierceness

form transformed rising
steel oatmeal morning
this field between suns
moons and lives
exists beyond rhyme
beyond the compression of moments lost and found
lost
found
over and over again
we are here
between the concrete moons
and linen stars