MOLARA WOOD

 

INCANTATION


I speak my words
in the still of the evening.
They hover.
A spell
for a firefly somewhere
to catch
on delicate wings
flapping silently in the woods
the brooks, the nooks
in search of a light.
That I may see my words
made flesh
in the glow.

I adorn my eyes
with rings of khol
till they are stars
in a bejewelled night.
But night hangs like a cloak
and loneliness stalks the heart
as bountiful linen trails the bride.

I make my way
stepping on humbled snow
fallen unseen in the dark
and stars shy away
in the frosty gloom.

And the firefly appears
a single, resolute streetlamp.
And snowflakes
aflame in the sphere of light
are a thousand flecks of gold
frittering
in the glow.

I stop and twirl
slowly.
A maiden of the Serengeti
splendoured in iced confetti.
I twirl like a bride
slowly.
A moment for my heart to hold
till even my days are old.
I twirl like a bride
slowly.
That I may see my words
made flesh
in the glow.

 

<<Previous Page    Next Page>>

SENTINEL POETRY #29, Online Magazine Monthly,  April 2005, ISSN 1479-425X