Fireflies
A slow moon
rolls over the hill,
It exaggerates
the height of trees,
stretches shadows
into oblique beings
exhilarated with the freedom
found only at midnight
in moonlight.A firefly,
or a wayward star,
lands on my hand.
I hold it for a moment,
then let it go.
Insomniac’s Love Song
Tonight the sky is weeping,
there is no moon.
The room fits loosely
like a flannel robe.Blanketed by silence,
the air is warm and soft
like memories, or old poems
on curling linen sheets.In this hushed light,
an island becomes a peninsula,
A bridge is built that scans the gap
between heart and brain.The pen is engineering.
Soft word’s
become a cat’s tongue
on the skin.
If this were a love song,
it would sit by your side
at sunset. It would rumple
your flaxen sheets
with an imprint
warm from lack of sleep
when night is done,
if this were a love song.
