the moment stood
and faced the sea; we called it
faith-breaker, the hiss
of sand’s what god? where?
we held our freedom in both hands
shook it out: to walk slowly on
wave-wise; to curl in again
with mountain-root song
Thanks and apologies to Kerfe, because I stole from her poem.
Once it is written, the magic is gone.
Galaxied dreams become rocks after all;
sky-blazing-brilliant star turns into stone
once it is written. (The magic is gone,
memory sunk. These words, cold and alone,
conjuring mere disillusionment, pall.)
Once it is written, the magic is gone—
galaxied dreams become rocks after all.
Playing around with the triolet for Yeah Write’s September poetry slam.