all copyright meaghan boeing, 2006-2007
7/17/06
4/01/07
how can i
name this luminescence
mine?
(these reddish hues
of moon)
this chastity
of
night remembering
of
hunting deepness
from
between the eyes
of owls,
the strength
of
shining through
the
darkest hours?
but i do call it
and
it answers
(hushed and slow
but soft and
singing)
mine.
articulate kisses
speak
worlds
and tales of
heroes
and
saviors
amidst the
poems
and
psalms
(they whisper sweets)
hum
elegies
and tell of all the
love
long
forgotten by
man.
they (you)
are
music.
a blush of blues
hushes
its way
overnight
to sing its lonely
hymn
to the broken
heart,
to you
and the empty
glass
in your
hand.
a
word given
after
silence
is
a deluge in
the
desert,
the possibility
of
flood
hovering
at the
edges
of those
sweet
sweet sounds
that fill the driest
riverbeds
with
torrents of
your
voice.
these
shadows fallen
from
the connected
beacon
of stars,
these calls
culled
from
the music
humming under
the
quiet of
anguish,
these softening
corners
hushed
with dust,
have all risen
together
to bring
truth to its
end.
a
slick that
trails
behind a
slither,
an oily tear
that
cuts too close
for
kindness to repair,
the quick
that
clutches corners
into
a
scar,
(darkness).
every day
a
phoenix,
every burning
is
destruction
is
creation,
every waking
is a
call for resurrection,
every breath
an
ending.