12 Degrees & Skiving

what began as year-long challenge has become perpetual until further notice

slow dance

hers is a dance
the velocity of months
the stillness within
converge, bow

the silver hangnail
overseeing starfall
a hooded cat eye
in fleeting cloud
a hot drop of wax
on winter velvet

hung by the moods of earth
sentenced to circle
and circle

it’s only the beholder who
deigns to see her
other than she sees herself
governess of female cycle
seas of wheat
bodies of water

we fall in line with her
in honour name her
for season

harvest moon
wolf moon
pink moon
flower moon

hers is a dance
to kiss the tide
to draw near
to pull away

Phoebus
Diana
Luna

she is untamed stone
a grey canvas
reflecting the sun
chasing him
at vast distance
hers is a slow
slow dance

 

P1150713

 

Tell me wotcha reckon

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This entry was posted on April 30, 2020 by in Poetry.

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