Ambush

The room. The white piano.
The stars gone slack.
The unmistakable rising up
to meet her. In heels and
a dark suit. A green light. A wing.
An accomplice. Silence and
more. Not silence. The mandolin still
trembling, still holding its moan.
Scar of light on the page. The blade
of an old story. The hand, the voice,
the deep pocket. Whatever stars are left.
The map, the spit and polish.
The sky like a great pond.
The drift. The notion.
The wine with its warm hide.
The lavish hand grenade. The stars and more.
The cloud, its soft harness.
The well. The wound. The warning.

Copyright © 2005 Silvia Curbelo All rights reserved
from Ambush
Main Street Rag Publishing Company
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission