The Lake

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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