The Moon’s Deep Wounds

When the soothing daylight

became absorbed

by the dim-colored distance

and the moon’s beak

like a horde of splinters

hit with a thud against earth,

night fell with a rumble

that made no noise.

Then the abrupt moonlight

got caught in your dark hair

and the early evening air

untangled autumn’s roots,

its twilight, its temple of leaves.

I watched you pull closer to yourself,

shaking like a thin spidery web.

You said: ‘Maybe life is an invalid

or a guide gone astray and inside each

circle of breath there is a path of light

that winds around

and comes back to us … and … maybe …

(pause to shiver)

on the day that we are going to die the veil lifts

and we know exactly what it is that we need

and when we turn back to reach for it we fade away.’

Suddenly your gaze was that of a wolf,

calm and transfixed, unaware

of its divine ripeness and only aware

of its physical hunger.

You asked, rhetorically: ‘If love is the master key

to the cosmic equation then why do lovers

become disjointed like worn out nets?’

Looking out over the wooded valley

where gray light feeds on the wilderness,

a jovial wind makes the leaves laugh and blur

and peel from the trees like orange embers

fleeing a fire.

In the dark stubble of the forest

the distance wavered, then disappeared.

The day was gone.

You continued: ‘The bane of our existence

is cold sweat within the icy throes of sinister dreams.

There is too much drizzle, too much clutter.

Then nothing, nothing at all.’

We heard voices coming from along the river,

children’s delicate voices, gentle laughter,

happiness the color of autumn, a crackling fire.

White smoke rose from the valley’s black shroud, rose

like ghostly medicine over the moon’s deep wounds

and the wind shifted to a steady chilled motion.

You shuddered in silence.

Overhead, the noisy geese made their escape

and every leaf was shaking.

---------------------------------------------------------

from my fourth book: 'The Translator'

©dah 2014 "The Moon’s Deep Wounds"
was first published in 'Lost Cost Review'

Prophet

In an effort to cross the street

she raises her hand

a prophet giving blessings

The traffic halted

Dressed in pink sweats

and magnificently poised

the heavy woman

illuminated by the sun

floated to the other side

Staring in store windows

her distorted reflection

is a pink pillar

One by one pedestrians fill

the kaleidoscopic canvas

with blue sky

like misplaced water above

Entering the reflection

in dark, grimy threads  

a street woman becomes

the shadow of Pink Prophet

Shifting in and out of the canvas

cars dart like startled fish

Then Pink Prophet moves on

and the dark shadow

limps down the street behind her

a tattered rag doll  

--------------------------------------------------------

from my sixth book-length manuscript

©dah / dahlusion 2015 all rights reserved 

"Prophet" was first published in

'The Canon's Mouth' (UK) as "Pink Prophet"

The Vanishing Of Differences

Because in the beginning

we were without language

this then is the account

We have landed here from the other side

pushed together into clumps

There were words beneath our skin

souls talking

teaching us memories of self

This is how we arrived

with spirits longer than eternity

Because the gray line is without margins

black and white blend

Gray becomes the way

the vanishing of differences

---------------------------------------------------------

from my fifth book-length manuscript

©dah / dahlusion 2014, 2016 all rights reserved

"The Vanishing Of Differences" was first published

in 'Eunoia Review' (China)