Amber & Oak

poem poem

I. Swelling hour, ebbing light, dusk to night

—deep and deeper still—

  Stealing light as May’s shifting breeze

  Steals sound: still and deep and silent.

                Still in swelling hour’s silent depths

                May’s maternal night shelters

                The fugitives of ebbing light.

II.  Blades in night-dark pasture stretch

      And reach and reach and grasp

      Then bend and sway as they

      Cannot stretch enough to reach

      The pale, pale, curvaceous flesh

                —Flesh they cannot grasp—

       Blades that envy the tips of fingers

       So impressed against the flesh

                —The pale, indulgent flesh—

       So impressed they mark and mar

       With nary a protest.

III. Fire-red, honey-hued spill

      Slightly framing slight bones—

      Structure frail and sharp and fierce.

      Amber and oak peek up past feathered lashes

      Slightly intoxicating, slightly wicked,

                Vivid even in the ebbing light;

                Light stolen away by deepening night.

      Garnet swollen-sweet flesh parts

      A sound, she speaks, a whisper.

      She exhales a honeyed breath;

      Noise slight, and yet

      Piercing in the still of night

                                Beads of flesh’s fever drip

                                And wet and wet and trace

                                And shift and part as they

                                Cannot drip enough to sate

                                Heated, aching flesh

                                                —Flesh they only trace—

      Beads that envy tips of fingers

      So impressed against the flesh

                                                —Fevered, indulgent flesh—

     So impressed they tangled and bind

     Flesh now pliant and wholly possessed.

IV. Stretching morning, ebbing night,

     Dawn of light—pale and paler still.

     Stealing night as May’s passing breath

     Steals shelter; still and pale and stripped.

                Still in stretching morning’s stripped pallor

                May’s jovial light exposes

                The fleeting largess of ebbing night.