Saturday, May 3, 2014



The bent figure on the horizon
sat many moons.
Above, the stars’ orbit—
a record of his dreams.

I’ve etched it
on the palms of my hands,
hold them tight
against the night.

Behind me
little death-moths
swirl about your hair
slow, but sure.

Photographer Acacia Johnson
Poem completed 4/2014


dampviolets said...

Girl, you are one wicked ass poetess. Love it

Rot said...

Yeah, this is really wonderful.

Jay's Shadow said...

You have a great way with words.

P.E. Cor said...

Very, very nice. And inspiring.

Willow Cove said...

Great poem!
So much imagery...

bean said...

Thanks, ya'll. :)