Death among the Thistles
        —wood engraving by Leonard Baskin

Out here in this leggy light
            the real is trashy, luminous
                        altogether arbitrary

like the moon a collision
            threw at our meaning
                        of beauty, sinking

like the face of a loved one
            whose dark secret bristles
                        temper November

a shade of purple I can only call
            a truce with the sky
                        and its endless ghosts

Tweet

Copyright © 2014 JoAnn Balingit All rights reserved
from Words for House Story
WordTech Editions
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission