what horizons await us, what skies fasten
to the bright ambers of our dreaming bones?
our love, water trickling over
a pebble in a stream,
the whoosh of
leaves and a shadow in the dark,
the ghost of a poem
written in a dream,
the splendour of the tide,
both everything and
nothing,
our love neither a poem or a sigh,
all the winds battling,
spring's blue moon waiting near the
water for one slow ripple to reach
out.
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 6:09 AM UTC
what horizons await us, what skies fasten
to the bright ambers of our dreaming bones?
our love, water trickling over
a pebble in a stream,
the whoosh of
leaves and a shadow in the dark,
the ghost of a poem
written in a dream,
the splendour of the tide,
both everything and
nothing,
our love neither a poem or a sigh,
all the winds battling,
spring's blue moon waiting near the
water for one slow ripple to reach
out.
