Saturday, November 14, 2015

Slow Sojourns

Turmeric tinges madden the air 
pollen-suffused, ghosts of unrecalled muses 
slow swarming of bough-shivers
Twirl by twirl. Gathering. Becoming. 
A thing alive, twig-knitted sky.
moth shadows speckle-
a petalous prose intermingling
the indolent unravelling of my breath- knots
bricks warmed in a centuries’ memories
a stair creaks, lights unwind, spill-
this euphoric innerness of being
languor fills brow in slow murmurs
under my skin, bees hum
a connectedness to distant nebulae
blood thrums into nectar,
I become a honey-comb
soaking up
this unbearable lilting-
universe’s secret dance.

Image: Pinterest

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