An Immortality of Sorts

~ a poem, a wish, a question ~

Image by darksouls1 on Pixabay

In light like

a magnesium ghost,

as though

mesmerized

by singsong winds,

an obsidian swirl

of blackbirds

undulates, breathes,

coalesces then

shatters into slivers.

A silent

tongue that could

never be ours

gathers them

to it’s bosom

to pour into an

indigo bowl of

day’s end.

Gone.

I have

tried to look

past calculations

of my mind for

columns of gold

wept at vanished rivulets,

ached for love’s syzygy.

That

radiance of jasmines

can be so darkly animalic

awes me still,

awakens

loins to atavistic yearnings…