MY DAILY BALM
and to sneak outside,
into the soft fragrance of the night
when all sea and earth creatures are asleep,
save for other
night birds like me…
and to tiptoe on naked earth,
in the dancing, dappled
sashays of ink, porcelain and chrome
strewn across the grass,
by lights glossing through
the air- blown crowns of the trees
i love the taste of the moon...
tangerine, compared to the metal taste
of the blistering noontime temperature.
and to inhale the embroidery of evening,
to me, is to be filled with soothing solace.
as one can see ...sneaking outside,
in the din of hours, to speak with her,
my moon--- round or sliced and concave---
has been a passage and ritual of mine
since I was a girl child.
and to chase this orb and know if she is
waxing or waning with my thirsty eyes,
i cling to her symphonies and silence
it is so, till I snuff out from this earthscape
if you see a butterfly maiden,
strolling the lines of a porch or street
in slit hours sometime before twilight...
it is simply me, once more, inhaling my moon
tasting this delicacy... this luna of beauty i need
as my daily passion and balm; lest i die
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A Favourite Poem Contest... Charlotte Puddifoot