Melodious Lay
Gray rolls of foam reflected on glass Turning fog-tinted windows into mirrors. The mist, tears on the faces of each pedestrian Walking amid their own familiar downpour. My eyes reflect another city With other people and other clouds. A singed image, where crows sing Longingly to eddies of a river And Ophelia’s tree stands too close To a grove of wild cattails. There is no sensation of the rain on my face Anymore. |
The Unicorn Bust on the Mantle
Proud, true, eyes forward, Mahogany polished to gentle curves. Hair, carved with crossing locks, A natural braid adorning your neck. Gray marks the grooves of your face Where dust has subverted the bold fingers Which have danced across you. This dust has wisdom you bear with grace, A reminder of the number of days you’ve watched The grandfather clock. You got knocked off the mantle once, Who knows how many decades ago. Now there’s just a jagged stump Flattening your mane where your horn grew. I wonder if anyone thinks You are just a horse now. You lost your one horn And still someone kept you. If only The fireplace hadn’t turned It to ash. If only Ash didn’t rise up to meet us. |