A spit of rain, a shine
of metal in the middle of the desert—
Oasis of an idea the mind will trudge
all night to, for its promise: cleft
that opens in the rock at the touch
of the lips, with each finger’s
compressed longing.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES
- Spring
- Horoscope
- If poetry is the shadow
- Interstitial
- Runic
- (poem removed by author)
- Interruptions of the actual
- Small fires
- Politic
- [poem temporarily hidden by author]
- [poem temporarily hidden by author]
- Bell Jar
- Retablo
- Hello, hello
- Vectors
- (poem removed by author)
- The Momentary
- Lessons in complexity
- Agape: