Song From The Underworld
Below the mountain
still
you were there.
Warm in the dark
my breasts flew out to you
like two ringed doves,
your lips were snowmelt
fading on poppy-fields
white to red, winter to
spring--
springing
soft soft
on my back,
your hands that saved the world
for last,
below the mountain
where the dead abide.
~January 2017
a belated 55 for the new old year..
Photo: © Aurore de Sousa Fair use via internet
This has a very dream-like atmosphere to it, and is all the more poignant for that.
ReplyDeleteSo very gorgeous......."my breasts flew out to you like two ringed doves."
ReplyDeleteChilling, thrilling vision in lines
ReplyDeleteI never knew spring could be so cold. But as it melts on her back, I feel the frost... and shiver.
ReplyDeleteoh. lush, then that twist, which upon re-reading was there all the time. ~
ReplyDeleteThe faith and hope here are both so invested in insubstantials, the dreamy drift and metaphoric pour. By refusing to be solid the poem can ride its dolphin (the hands) to spring. A safe and fructive place, even if it is deep among the dead.
ReplyDeleteA voice singing from below the surface. May the one who made the world hear her.
ReplyDelete