WHISTLING IN THE DARK
As evening falls, the train
Sings one long note to hold the fading light.
In my room the uninvited guest
Bounces off and echoes in my ear.
My heart, stretched thin and tight,
Resonates, and with it all my flesh,
Aching, tingling, alive--not knowing why--
Wails to postpone the setting of its night.
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AEOLIAN HARP
The first breeze of Spring
Rustling through the hairs of my chest:
The fingers of the god
Strumming on the threads of time.
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SALVIA
The Salvia my mother planted
Bloom anew each summer.
I see the burning spikes,
The brushes dipped in crimson,
Set on end in neat rows,
So passionate, yet orderly.
Had God appeared to Moses
In my mother's garden,
She would have bade him use
Her burning brushes.
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