Sunday, 19 June 2011

Rapture I stand here staring,
at a savage moon,
with an angel
on my shoulder, a reminder
of you in my pocket,
a devil’s mask,
taken and drawn
from a lonesome vat of
heaven and silk-light,
like a kite,
in the moment I notice,
that I miss you
tonight, as a grounded yacht
the ocean, and I drive
through the waves to a door
that is open on both sides;
a looking glass;
where I take your hand,
and pull you down
in the grass, to blanket
a stream with tales of the
past and the present and the
yet to come,
with the flames of fever
still red as the sun’s last
passion on a summer’s eve
and I climb to the mountain’s
summit, too lost
in rapture
to leave.