| | windward
Outside
the bungalow
evening
begins to
chill,
sleeping beneath
an
awning of sky in
berlin blue.
There is something
sacred
of fire on a beach, it
draws you close like a
newborn to its
mother's breast.
When we touch again
I will remember this.
But for now,
indefinite
circles of seconds
clocking voices on a line
in this downtime
of the heart.
Settled in the cool of night
the flames persist,
beating
to windward.
Mia Moore
16
mar 01
|
