.

We trod a lonely road
witch-shadows strewn on mud-cracked soil
mingled in sunlight and darkling beams

Why bother asking after reasons?

A yellow room, drapery roiling
through the open window to blossom-
scented breezes, these and other things—

Return this promise of you and me.

And yet, we’re always just out of reach
like spring grass gripped tight in winter’s grasp
fingers clasping swans of silver ice

That melt into one ten-fingered hand.

Languidly withdrawn, until I knew
roaming far beyond, yet here and gone
that all along it was you, just you—

That glued my blues to your violets.

And if we trample our haloes to . . .
dust, shatter these wizard wands, let our
swords crumble to nothing more than rust

We were radiant once; it’s enough.

We will linger on, pale stars at dawn
raindrops sliding down our upturned cheeks
warrior-poet, fallen goddess—

All steel-plated breasts and ghostly kisses.


04/29/2007 M. Andre Vancrown