Thursday, December 28, 2006

Morning Triptych

A satin angel unfurls his wings,
interrupting the sky,
brushing a feather fringe
along the horizon.

As wings drift down
and begin to recurl
they fold, enfold,
like the cradle of a mother's arms.

When you lean over the bed
to kiss me goodbye
your face falls into wrinkles:
where I find softness,
where my lips merge with skin.

You are rueful about signs of age
but I find infinite forgiveness
in the smoosh of flesh;
the reassuring permanence
like the stone giants that rise from plains
and shape the land.

Our morning bower
is like a cell of honeycomb,
filled with amber light,
small nuzzlings,
and the vague recollection of honey,

till the grindlebear starts his rumblings
and urges us out in search of berries.


Blogger keros said...

here I stand in front of these three paintings trying to decide which is more beautiful

2:30 PM  
Blogger burning moon said...

lol, what a perfect compliment. thank you!

3:56 PM  

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