Sunday, September 30, 2007
"The Horai"
At the horizon line
the sky is the color
of summer skin
touched with delicate
jet trails crossing patterns
into the thinning
atmosphere.
They whip stitch
the clouds together,
building the blanket
of coming winter.
I gather it to my chin.
The moon hangs petulant,
a silver sickle
beheading the crowns
of the Horai,
scattering them among
the rising stars,
barely perceptible above
the curves of the highway.
The high road leans
like a well built
woman in repose,
slicing the faded light
with her hips,
thick with sin
and destruction
I drive into willingly.
Aleathia Drehmer 2007
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1 comment:
I'm trying to contact you as we have published some of your work in erbacce; want to send you a free copy but the email you supplied doesn't work. Can you email me at erbacce@blueyonder.co.uk please?
Alan Corkish (Editor erbacce poetry journal)
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