At the Windowby:Carol Cross This morning raindrops Cold-click against the panes; Today's excuse not to venture out. I want the company of familiar Faces; my chipped coffee mugs, Tattered brocade on the chair's arm, The comfort in the frayed edge Of the window shade half-drawn Against the prying eyes of angels. So here I sit and stare at a hoard Stalking their own unstoppable futures. How can they know we were travelers, once? Young and foolish and in pursuit of the now. Nothing was going to stop us; not the rain, The angels, the window shade. Morning glum gives-in to a brief Respite of afternoon sun shining in On Angel tongues to carry dust off The bureau where pictures Remind the world of our youth; Of the now retro, the then, now. We smiled for some camera, Held peace in the palms of our hands, Wore it from our necks and drank And fucked ourselves blind. Day into endless day, our now Would never end. The lens Lost focus, we slept in the Vomit our dreams left behind. I remember that night. Angels came, Carried your lifeless body into The camera's eye and left me Lost downtown, high. Carol Cross |
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BIO: Carol CrossCarol Cross is a poet who lives in upstate New York. She draws on nature and the human spirit for inspiration in her many writings. She is the feature poet of the Desert Wind Coven at http://members.xoom.com/desert_wind/. Her writings have appeared in several print journals most recently The Spirit of the Woman in the Moon, and the Stoneflower Review and ezines, including 2River View, the Compass Rose Review, Conspire. She is also a contributing editor to DISCLOSURES. Please stop by her website DREAMSTITCH. This site showcases the poetry of MS. Cross andfellow poet Ryan Malone in a variety of formats.http://members.aol.com/seedling52/dreamstitch.html |
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