The lake’s canvas of
Touch-craft seeks the foreign
Dignity of my weary steps
This my longing gait, motions
Toward your arms and bribes
The flowered shore of dusk –
Consumes the day, this day
Aligned askew to a lust-red sun
Resolving to an effortless
Musk of silence [approaching]
The hush of night as
Thistle cries weary on this
Occasion of my remembered
Softness of you – and I plunder
The night asking merciful stars
Please, please bring me to you
Your image glowing moonlike
Beside these imploring
Shores of my Alone:
That I can smell the day lilies
Above the floating lotus
Reminds me that I am still
Furlongs away from you
So, so far away
From you . . .
© K. James Ribble
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