« Another diversion | Main | On the Passage of Time »

3 Poems


I dream silent songs
and weep lost years
for seas that did not bloom

O child of mine
soundless you still sleep
liquid, in my heart

the day of your passing
thrones wept

O child of mine
for artificial fire
each night
I pray

I am pressed and flow liquid

I am pressed
and flow liquid
in his olive skin.

His hands chalices
cup my breasts
His heart a poppied river
carries me.

Words fall
wingless and I realize -
I am rooted
in his earth.


With eyes downcast,
I glance at you
and grin.

In the background,
an abandoned chapel,
guarded by an old lock
the colour of Byzantium.

Through a broken window
eyes of Saints watch
our liturgy.

del.ici.ous digg reddit StumbleUpon facebook Technorati Twitter