The Departed

The Clouds always matched the sky,
Like the buttons on his suit,
Spreading up to the Lapel’s of the Heavens,

To the Sun.

Finally the Moon,
An old man looking on romantically
Spends his time in the patterns of the night.

Telling stories like age old myths,

To the one left behind.


The doorknobs
Are wiped dry,
And the corners
Pressed in the rooms.

The light bulbs unscrewed,
For other homes,
No more reshuffling of matches,
Into a bigger box.

Someone’s dying
In all the windows,
As she goes

The Child

Leafs weep when touched,
Trees bend as he walks by,

He is the black cats worry
And the golden dogs saviour.

He knows it all,
That is his right,
Youth does not betray his age.

He sleeps on ocean floors
And communes on mountain tops.

He is the world and all its secrets.

He is the suns keeper
And the moons gift.

A child by any other name.

No comments:

Post a Comment