a landsacpe repeatedly seen
not to be drawn
but to be wondered on
the glass window was her quiet companion
and from her ledge she saw two lovers
who were shyly agreeing on nothing.
(her dress billows, she sees, yes, a nice girl having a nice time-
a fire and a cloudy day rounding out the appetite. I like fires when I can share a fire
when clouds make the milk for my tea and the red leaves spread out in warm blankets)
moments pass, it seems, now she eyes
the second orange sunset rise.
Nostalgia was the gut feeling.
She wanted to be herself at seven
carrying the oval sky in her pockets
in handfuls of cloud
leaning on her mother’s skirt
Looking out at the green plains
crying but not knowing she was crying.
a flock of Ewes go down the mountain
and now the nightwatchman carries his torch to the river, to drown himself.
she opens up a bright scarlet box
(come, hold the cold jeweled nest, and feel something inhibited)
“it needs care,” she says as she looks at it
“it needs to hold an emptiness”
Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry