Looking out the back window
on leaves dusted with the silver
November moon like a polished dime
They skitter and frolic in the wind
while the heart spins with them
and the eyes track the sky
Taurus, the Seven Sisters and Orion
his belt a beacon, and a question,
begged by a soul beset with doubts
Is it true? Is it real, a twin system
of incandescences can survive together
even in hard vacuum all around?
Because this system is twinned no longer,
second light spun into interstellar black,
The first now dimmer, poorer, colder.
28 November 2010
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My words are crude,like two-by-fours and bricks. I wield them in clumsy ignorance, sullying your poetry, striving to prove that hard vacuum though it is, connections still exist. And, um, you write good.
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