| General Poetry
posted March 31, 2020
Levitation meets gravity
Dull, leaden skies like a bullet round
loaded in a chamber already with bluing
from being fired.
To make the sun bleed,
the widowed mountain peaks mourn
with mourning shrouds
that cover their glorious, shinning faces.
Their youthful cheeks not blushing
from being scrubbed
with laughter, sunshine and purifying snow
but rubbed raw to rock face with ashes and lye
and meeting, in the clearings,
the putrification of golden aspen leaves.
O grim fairy tale with no happy ending!
Everything dressed for winter
and every honeybee a drone.
The white flag of the deer to the hunter.
The partridge to the fox.
Even the silver cold sliver of the moon
brought low in the sky by gravity's pull.
The yoke is heavy on oxen
trying to log fuel uphill.
But the man is dressed for morning,
wearing only a waistcoat
in a biting, blizzards maw.
His footfalls are strides!
He goes up the mountain not down.
He finds a way to cross the river.
The bark of his blazing a trail
frightens and disturbs
the predatory lion and the hibernating bear.
God designed him man
and his design is written in the sky
in the victory formation of migrating geese
moving with the magnetic pull of the stars.
Morning will not find them naked
but dressed gloriously with feathers
like quills to the ice.
Love only dresses for morning to.
Let me undress you with a caress
and let even your light linens fall
so that we are both naked and bronze in the sun.
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