imagination and thorn
this is a rose of my imagination –
its graphic red edge erratic,
nook of petals unending in fullness,
desert bell and mantra swell absolute.
its concept glitters a universe.
galaxies evolve out of mind –
quasar and star collapse in time,
supernovas surge to re-birth.
yet the rose is only so beautiful
because of its nostalgia, it is the rose
of my imagination, a rose I try
to love. the thorn still so uncertain –
whose is this face I ponder like an eternity?
when meridians of moon gentle evenings,
by the sea, by the sea –
the clock stroke mosses a gull wing,
its call stalks a dark arc over glowing alps.
I wander in silk lengths of sands,
gaze through shell geometrics,
shore features leaping in fantasias –
and this curious moon,
its wants creak through dull rivets,
an aeronautic loosening of dream into cloud, then and now –
the stillness is chromatic – the din invisible.
I will never forget that instant of silver,
the artisan sweat and chisel strike on stone
cheekbone as immense eyelids nest
when full moon sets, like this.
Holly R. Appling lives in Canada. Her poems have appeared in QWERTY, Carousel, Leaf Press, Jabberwocky, WEIRDYEAR, Aphelion and The Scarlet Sound. More of her writing is at http://www.hollyappling.wordpress.com.