The Magic of Snow Quartz

(first published by Atavic Poetry)

You sing a dissonant song to the waves
that wrinkles the sails of ships,
each note wind-whipped into the hollow
of seashells, suspended as a sound print.

You let the day swallow you whole,
and from its jaw hold the moon’s gaze,
you do not see moths flirt lamplight flickers
or gulls hover the bounty of the dunes.

You watch an ethereal mist descend,
people leave the Cirque de Nuit with halos,
while your hair becomes shadow-play
on the sea-wall, your fingers frozen.

As you sleep, your nightmares are written
on the canopy of the Big Top.
When you awake, you see only fog
and feel a pull at your solar plexus.

You watch bleak clouds circle sky
and do not notice the drama unfurl,
the rush of caramel and salt air
or the crisp leaves lift and swirl.

You have forgotten to forget,
until something the gypsy says at the tent
as you pass along the beach,
when she crosses a white stone into your palm.

 

All rights reserved.

Photo courtesy of Public Domain Pictures.