Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Nearing Landfall

A door crack of silver

on the horizon, dawn slides

under this hour haunting

the cat poised high

on a window sill, the housewife

dusting oil lamps.

Tea roses have opened,

fully bloomed to the floral

madness of van Gogh.

Some petals drop on the rug,

thumbprints of fragrance

left before the storm.

Both feline and female

confront the waiting.

A stoic perch

casts her-r-r shadow

into the mouth of the sea, one

of nine lives she can spare. Small

sacrafice to the elements.

A hypnotic rub

of handcloth polishing

pewter and glass summons

her bridal vow to prevail,

shatterproof despite

the breakable tints

of more light, lowering sky, lady

fearing the confinement. Its lack of time.

No comments: