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calendar of my soul
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Hyacinth garden blue moon, so few
so much less than good men
shall we see them pass
the old moon in new moons arms
so intimate, if I breathe deeply
that it breaks the silence,
an old lexis on the rise,
on my lips, before my eyes
this August moon
pausing, round and luminous,
Venus trailing close behind
hover on the other side of the night.
I notice the moon, so watchful,
I almost believe, I can touch its cool face
as the hour grows in the calendar of my soul...
ahead of its literal reveal
