Published on: 3/17/2012
The Craft

First, I take an inventory of the
Puzzle pieces. Are they all here,
Scattered about? I search for the
Tiffany glass, the spools of thread.
Will I catch the wink of their sparkle
Through the gloom of the room?
I huddle for warmth in my red velvet
Coat. My breath is fog and crystal.

Late afternoon and the sun has
Slipped from the room. The shadows on
The walls resemble climbing silver roses.
Words are like jewels that ring in my ear.
There's salsa and chutney, chai, and the
Vanilla cake the pale shade of a satin
Dress. And what of the symbols? The
Baubles? Shall I use his amethyst ring?

There are the colours of hypocrites and
Cowards, myself being one. There is the
Gift of my darling's monkeyshines. There is
The dancing bunny in its little black jumpsuit.
I found summer in the scent of coconut.
I weave into my tapestry the shapes of
Flowers, ghosts and ruins. This is the juice
Of dreams. Daydreams and a brainstorm.

Published on: 3/17/2012
The Moon

Her novelty has faded.
The stars hang back, distant ladies-in-waiting.
The night sky, their palace, is eclipsed by cities
Exploding with neon lights and grotesque trees.
She is too romantic.
Inch by inch, the black sheath is drawn back,
Revealing her smiling crescent.
She keeps a faithful orbit, and stirs
Blue oceans with long white fingers.

In her full sphere
She is a perfect spotlight,
Turning quiet snowy fields into
Illuminated empty stages.
She plays peek-a-boo, uncovering lovers
Gleaming whitely in the mouths
Of beds.
The beauty of entwined limbs
Exposed in her milky radiance.

She is the sun's soft reflection.
He is never dim, and the black
Silk bag, a sort of corset,
Is ready to devour her again.
The wine is drained from the glass.
Her smile has become a slit.
The single pearl
Gulped,
Cloaked in shadow again.