Tuesday, July 5, 2016

Neuw Moon, Old Poetry of What Trust Is.... Circa 2009

Right Now, 1:12 pm on a Friday in October of 2009

Right now I am lost in her irises.
They are easy pools of contemplation
That I slip into with a zealousness
of the greatest intensity, but one
pock-marked by my many years of
walking wounded.

In fractions of seconds of minutes
of hours of days of years I’ll
see tribulations.
But I think I’ll always come back to her irises.
And rest.
Drink from the endless gourds of life kept grounded by
her mind.

And she thinks she’s gone,
but she’s not. She’s right
and I am in her irises.  


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