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

here,

and I am in her irises.