This morning
behind charred clouds
the moon sank
as if weighted by
its alabaster center
yet holding
light,
becoming full
bodied between
plumes of thick night.
Time brings on vertigo.
The past smells of soot,
the smoke dissipates
as soon as it appears
now
the ashes of what was once
solid
touch smears what has
dis-appeared.
Imagining the days to come
are dreams,
the haze and glow of a child
in wonder,
hoping for a pony
afraid of the horse
it will be-come.
Now, like water the falls
in sprinkles
touching my cheeks,
the temperature adjusts
to the soul, a heart
that is cold can hold
now,
clinging to ice
that melts into the ever
present stream
of being
here.
Painting by Wilhelm Ferdinand Xylander, c. 1884 in Skagens Museum, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.
