….
We steal celestial moments,
thread our words through belt
loops touched only by
gods light years away.
We call names.
Fall apart.
Whistle and wait
for the echo of
our own syllables.
The stars are pin-prick cat prints
on construction paper,
and
somebody gnaws a moon
-ring in the black licorice
of this broken sky.
…
wordled.
The last stanza is outstanding.
Thanks, Girl. I miss you.
Surgery is day after tomorrow.
Bravo, each line is breathtaking and rightly so. Greetings, and nice week!
Thanks so much. Appreciating all your recent comments, blogoratti. 🙂
Well, basically great.
Thank you! 🙂
Reblogged this on NANMYKEL.COM and commented:
Marvelous imagery…
Simply brilliant!
Click to visit Keith’s Ramblings
As ever your imagery is spellbinding
So amazing, the wordplay phenomenal and singing harmony with the imagery. Love this. Orion is one of my favorite constellations. Something about “Whistle and wait for the echo of our own syllables” makes my heart hum. Word choices are also stellar😉❤
I love this one!!! Love it all, especially the last three lines.
I agree with everyone else, this is a wonderfully fluid use of the words,
Elizabeth
http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com