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Thirty-five's a whisper in the sunlight
Half-submerged in butterflies and bees.
Intimations run like rutted scars,
Remembrances of wounds beneath delight
Thick with summer bloom like rainbow seas.
Yet night brings on a wild rage of stars.
For what is this ejaculate of light?
In pain and wonder, agony and ease,
Viewing silent, distant ecstasies,
Estranged from emptiness by silken bars.
All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems
permission to use
provided by the author. |
