I count the inwoven stars
maybe I could find your smile
in the bright tangles of night
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 6:09 PM UTC
the sound of moonlight’s footsteps
hangs my heart
on the edge of the morning thrill
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC
you wrote me light
and I fathomed dawn
in your moonlight-tainted quill
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 6:06 PM UTC
I saw a poet embracing the thorns of a rose
I saw a dreamer piercing the eyes of the night sky
I saw the cold body of fear in their eyes
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 6:05 PM UTC
I live on the edge of a sleepy soul
a moist rose
and an infinite lilac sky
beneath my chin
— M. Melia, from The Unravelling Travelogue.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 8:09 AM UTC
bring two cups of tea
to the eye of the storm
and let us drink them
under the cold barrage of voices
let us write a book on the soil
with a preface written by gods
and a dandelion index as boundless as time
let us write about an earth
in which tree leaves are sacred
its rain is the verdict of fluttering
and its children are the blue pellucid of life
and its people prostrate to the skies
let us speak of an earth
on which tulips don't grow*
swallows stay and plant dandelions
let us write a book
in the diameter of dreams
in the length of smile and width of tears
with the weight of seedlings
by the ink
dripping from the lips of spring
— M. Melia
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 11:22 AM UTC