Thunderless Days
I wear sackcloth & ash.
My bones rattle inside my skin
and I wait.
I wait for you to write poems again
on my tongue, to savage
my heart with your fist
until I bleed out old memories
of thunderless days and unrepentant suns,
the grass made green by our lovemaking.
The grass still sprouts our promises,
my love, words too hard, it would seem,
and too packed with undecipherable longings
for anyone less than a god,
or perhaps the devil, to recognize--
much less hold true.
Pris Campbell
©2006
Art: Cycle 14 by Itzhak Ben-Arieh
copyrighted and used with permission
Itzhak Ben-Arieh is a gifted artist who's
graced my pages in the past. To visit his website, click HERE
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