The Fatal Moon
The lithe traipse of night wind
tingles in my ear with faint secrets
chiming through jacarandas
and June's lavender-strewn grass.
I stand before the fatal moon,
his ivory blood trail lilting on the lake.
We'll both be gone by morning,
he to his desolate canyons
and I to my lonely bed
where I'll awaken
to summer's lambent birth.
Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment