Sunday, July 19, 2015

<fog>

<fog>
 dripping footsteps
 in woods and hollows,
 swirling on the blacktop,
 alive with hidden fear
 of a self
 pining for its own loss
 <there>
  in the trees above the pond:
  who walks there
  trying to find me, seeing my end?
  <tree>
   if I was, I could grow alone
   like green leaves on a weathered trunk
   and learn how to dream,
   for memory seeks eyes
   as the bare trees scratch sky for light
   <moths dreaming of an empire
     of wool on fire \light>
    <abide>
     the flame inside,
     the window painted
     with our breath
     and playful scrawls
     <hidden>
      clothe my bones,
      unravel my true nature:
      the dirt I'd do - if no one saw -
      cleansed in the fire
    </hidden>
   </abide>
  </tree>
 </there>
</fog>

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

<hummingbird>

<hummingbird>
 skimming barrio sky,
 suckling honeysuckle
 outside my kitchen window
 <whir>
  we are sun
  and defy gravity
  and transmute bitter to sweet
  <nectar>
   what word from the dead?
   <\dream>
  </nectar>
 </whir>
</hummingbird>

Copyright 2015 Charles David Miller All rights reserved