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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3580 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Those Summers of Tigers Vienna (Carole Barley) 'and every single memory, has become a part of me' George Michael, Jesus to a Child In the evening spaces between summer storms, electricity lingers in still air. I crush leaves, cradle blossoms tended long over winter; delicate line and shape, ethereal fragrance fills the garden as the moon drifts weightlessly. There is energy here, stardazzling as your smile, warm as breath shared under lazy arc of palm. You are an owl, almost near enough to stroke with chlorophyl streaked fingers. Almost near enough to touch. I ask people who are not there to play guitar, start hesitantly, silver strings and starlight dreams, cast in darkness, caught and carried by a tongue stumbling over intonations and minor scales. I breathe and you come to me. This is the time to make my own maps, chart journeys beginning and ending in the memories we made for ourselves, hot under covers, strung out wild under skies as big as our dreams. We were faster than the wind, faster than the wind. Greens and the darkest of imaginable blues close in at this late hour. I can pull handfulls of air close to me, clean and cooling with the approach of tomorrow. This is my gathering place, among displaced blooms and exotic foliage. we were all Neruda craved, we still are. |
