Morning Mist

Blue stone of longing combs
tumescent ‘long the tree line
moist with last night’s rain –

valence of aspens cloak me
in a garland of memory, as
a crosswind of morning

skiff the clouds margin-white
in a silence of caution
-while I dine on moonlight-

ripe with the treasure of
your starshine, your bouquet
of lessons in arroyos, ascendant

in the branch of dry open oceans
forming like the agave morning
mist in your carob eyes

and I gaze the lip of time
at the feet of love’s nymph,
this vision known only to us

in the quiet, riparian tracery
of our souls’ carnal birthing . . .

 

© K. James Ribble

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