Arms, fingers and eyes!
To you I call to awake
from your earthbound sties
to give solace to this life which the thunder did shake.
Storms hold us together flesh tied friends,
this rain treads lightly on our window sill
as each drop meets its own grounded ends,
yet the wind still beats on my head as all words begin to spill.
Dark and humid is the taste of Eris' thrill.
"Why" these eyes ask "must you look to your feet?"
To this I turn my head up and see how the clouds always do move,
all outstretched like the river past many imprisoned street;
the trio too much for these feet to behoove.
Wonder passes through periodic walls,
a dawn for every dusk does prevail
like the sparrows rainy calls
which from all twitters do stories entail.
Young and silhouette eyed though one day frail.
This mirror knows only of portraits in its sight,
but the horizon always is between these tethered hands,
while the looking glass rests in human despair or delight,
in its sight I nonetheless drink in joy knowing this body makes no demands.
The sun peers out now over heat kissed shoulders,
in its pensive light I do not stop to cry
for all the moments that in its light will smoulder;
nor need I dare to ask why.
Reflection melds into the star hewn night and ferns will soon curl out to dry.
Friends of this torso and damned conscience,
they now run out of my front door,
out of the garden's fence
and need they not another reason or moment more.