singing to a mermaid
I
am the white noise
of an ivory ocean shankh
spreading through your every
limb
before the sound of
rain stirring morning sand
before the
sound of
wet-nosed dogs
turning in their
pallets at the door
But you, you are passion
in a sleepy nocturne
an Italian lute,
a Spanish guitar -
your instruments press
against the bulwark
touchable swells of sound that
pull me in like sonar
wrapped in sea-foam
fleece and
hidden in my painted
music chest, verde-black
with
locks of filigree
You wait beneath the bow wave
Sounding, calling,
every
deep vibration from within.
Mia Moore
|
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Shankh
is a conch shell, said to announce the
victory of good over evil when it
is blown.
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