Pilot me to the edge,
to the door between either and or.
Wear tie and handkerchief,
the trilby that looks sexier on you―
with midnight in your pocket,
your shadow fixed between the arrows.
Look to the middle distance when the tide is out―
at last you see migration on the horizon.
Give me mellow, for keeps.
Show me the other side of clouds―
pull goggles over my eyes,
kisses from my quiver.
Let me be free to let go―
die that little death.
tk/June 2013
Thanks to R.A.D. Stainforth for bringing this poem to life.
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| The Promenade, 1918, Marc Chagall |
