“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Sunday, June 11, 2017
bed of coals
Enveiled, as usual
lifted my eyes by the chin
you invited me in
a place I know, have been
sitting by the fire-place.
And only on this hearth
have I seen illumination
made warmer
by generous raditation
over time and across space
between us-apart-of something else
that remains Otherness
between bonds like breath
we share aglow,
rekindled when struck together.
Painting by Santiago RusiƱol (1894) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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