08-13-2013, 10:51 AM
The town is square and grey, an altar cloth
in open fields. A boulevard divides
the rising and the setting sun. The hill
which rooted Joseph's staff may not be here,
but Nature's sweets and idols are. A witch
I kissed one Summer's night is bearing bread
and stones. I watch her through a pub window.
Her rites are held in tree preserves, where love
and leaves are one with light, each soul a part
of Earth's design. I kissed her there, beneath
a stooping tree. She laughed and lost my name.
I walked to work the next morning with grief.
A fleeting lust, a sudden warmth, a tree
behind us, old and stooped, yet now this grey.
in open fields. A boulevard divides
the rising and the setting sun. The hill
which rooted Joseph's staff may not be here,
but Nature's sweets and idols are. A witch
I kissed one Summer's night is bearing bread
and stones. I watch her through a pub window.
Her rites are held in tree preserves, where love
and leaves are one with light, each soul a part
of Earth's design. I kissed her there, beneath
a stooping tree. She laughed and lost my name.
I walked to work the next morning with grief.
A fleeting lust, a sudden warmth, a tree
behind us, old and stooped, yet now this grey.