… or night.

By J. K. McDowell

April 2012

 

Each sip is precious, drinking from each other’s grief.

Souls mingle then are torn apart but flames remain.

That fire is a gift.  This will take most of the night.

 

Moonlight, silver crescent, sharp against my throat.

What pleas would grant me another day of writing?

This happens so often, yet I cannot fear the night.

 

The Beloved lifts Theresa from the floor.

Winds of passion, the cloak rustles, folds, flowing.

Here, feel this Divine Ecstasy, in the darkest night.

 

Sometimes the sunlight is more dangerous.  A target

So well illuminated, any pause means the end.

Moving among such brilliant arrows I pray for night.

 

The final alchemy?  This is far from over!

The ingredients, the proportions and the timing.

To see the stars, we need to wait until night.

 

Federico’s Heart opened wide to embrace the Moon.

What else could any eyewitness account add?

Anyway Jim, I was not there, day or night.

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