Night wakens on cold water

Oily with languor

Her eyes, unfocused coals

As a young horse will strain against capture

She fills her mouth with light, and swallows deep

Last threaded lines of dusk, bow humble in retreat

Smudging purples, as lovers tracing whetted lips

Soon; only a cross stitched outline of prior deeds

Resting their memory against the cleaving hush of dark

Then find in this warm reduction, an escape

Brushing noice from your plump, seeking cheeks

When you dive into ink, your wings inherit a black rainbow

Fingers working like a lyrist, searching for that one stroke

In the plucked seed of a moment; the ancient tree gives birth

And all around, rise forests of ebony feathers, claiming their plumage

Urging to fly and send the moon on her sommulent arc

A peal of diminishing thread, echoing besotted, trailing stars

It’s not just humans who live and die by obsessions lyre

Even voiceless night birds dream of silver; even thorns long to pierce

The tender spot beneath her warm, ruddy, wild ventricle.

5 Replies to “Madder root”

  1. “When you dive into ink, your wings inherit a black rainbow” is an astounding line! 🖤

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