Thursday, January 27

poetry #4 - love at altitude

© mdlockhart 2009

it is not wisps of peony light filtered through
amber-hazed breezes of spring pollen
singing the night into being

nor the swollen burning glow of sun being drowned
in the hissing embrace of a tropical sea
the gasps and shudders
of requited passion
or the sigh of virginal stars
chasing the red, failing light into the west
beneath clouds cavorting in the jet stream

not wind through the pregnant sails of the forest
gloaming’s shadow over the verdant pulp of the earth’s womb
all to a percussion of crickets
and a chorus of flying hums

it is mine though

hard and glaring
cold as the heavy sky
looming and foreboding as granite walls
forced into contrasts of bawdy white and grey
weighty with ice and fertile snow
frigid, insistent

endless crease and frozen undulation
the stare of somnolent silver eyes
a forever-white, ocean deep and unforgiving                        
cracked and wrinkled, dry and glazed over

yes, mine, and beautiful to me

© mdlockhart 2009