poet Archives

morning star (poem #578)

Where are the eyes of the night, the soul and

the morning star? I am here, listening

to the roll of the globe under my feet

hard-pressed and sore.

Slip down

into oblivion, a

matching heart

beats in response

reciprocates.

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Where are the eyes? the eyes

of the dead, watching from

the darkness. A flame erupts,

ignites the iris, reflecting back.

I sink, and

welcome

the cold water,

rising up to my neck

and over.

Sun turnstiles

and I am revolving

around you. In orbit,

you do not glow, glitter,

or emanate a light source,

life source. You are a moon,

created out of cataclysm, but

reflecting light nonetheless

you are the center.