Flowers help you not.
Fire flames you into life twice.
Upside down, buoyed by a whirlpool
floating just out of reach
of the still air,
no one waves from the other shore.
Loon’s cry. Empty place.
Be the black orange lady
with wings. Her most beloved itch
nudges her, Fly
to dry the tear-drenched eyes
of all other almond shells hollowed.
Who was in water
mine own whale
beached. Rare
are the adamant refusals
to dive when now
harpoons fly your way once more.
(9 April 2013)
copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander
No comments:
Post a Comment