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TIGER LILY
I hear you small dark soul
grasping
at the sky for answers. Obsidian
in the deep of night. Resonating,
I hear harmonies in the music of your melancholia.
But, alas your answers,
will only
be found
in Tiger Lilies
or in the retinas of cats
in dark pearled oysters
in Tasmania or maybe Tangiers
inside
a puff of smoke
in the eye of a category 5
in moments of panic
between the chimes of midnight
in the hunger of ghosts.
the burn
of passion.
beneath casual misconception
floating in a Summers wind
dripping in caverns
between liberation and madness
under
water hose rainbows
while eating an onion
in the poems of madmen
in a field of swaying umbrellas
in a sip of hot coffee
trickling
down the side of a cup.
Such
tender musings you see
are for those
whose eyelids blink
more slowly than most and sound
like heavy temple bells
each time they open and close.
Your darkness is beautiful
You are more real than most.
I would like to see you read
your words
palm to chest head tilted back,
distant eyes
I would take your hand
and smile at you. and nod.
Yes, I
would nod and I
I would smile.
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