the leaves on the tree
are thinking of falling,
boats burn on lake at night
as descending sun
gives a moment,
the surge in your fig eyes
brings the languish
of body and spirit,
sweet seasons juice
almost quenched,
bringing bitter almonds
to my heart,
music dense in bone
we have to expect a something new
tentative bridges to fragile blue ice,
the surge will come
i will be at your door
under shivering boughs
backlit galvanized lights
fold into the night,
for it is to come,
but for now,
as silent gardens ponder
vague unfamiliar shapes,
the song still plays
as a moth takes descent,
it is a lonely outpost that i
maintain.
velvetmedia 