The Shell and the Narrative

In Hue and Value
The specter of
My voice camps
At pitch to resolve
The surrounds of us
//
A Sun-Dial day
Of Vineyards
Languishing
The hindsight of
Morass in thalo blue
//
As Fire begets regret
A castle of religion
Could not contain me
Once enamored am
I always revealed in
//
Gold Lake of Mirrors
Asleep in the lap of
June – my birth in a
Zephyr of warmth
Now(here) we sighed
//
Of this occurrence
This charity entrusted
To our budding mend like
Salix by our lake I
Weep in Familiar wind
//
Beckoning to me to you
Kept shorn of Luxury
All those memories,
Childhood moments
To all of us, once
//
As passages across
All time each journey
Like children, like
Natives on the road
Of our Return to a
//
Senescent scent of
Sweet susurrus past
On, past all of us:
No one shall be taken
No one shall be lost.

 

© K. James Ribble

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