Azulejo

A reblogging mood. For a friend…

The Bard of Liminga

The sky was inlaid azulejo
tile, cool and gleaming.

Our love was a memory
from an undiscovered world,

filaments of dreams
woven beneath the snow.

The perfect still surface
of twilight was rippled

by the ululated cries
of the crane pair calling

to each other in the glow
of the solitary moon.

There was but one patch
of bare ground, a tangle

of frozen angel hair
crunching underfoot, crushed  

by the weight of the wait.
I imagined your touch in the air

just beyond the limit of my skin,
a wind too weary, unstirred.

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About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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