My Place My Time In nights like this, I sit at my desk, let my fingers skim pages, while I try to write my place my time. A place where leaves flush shadowing jade grapes, where the sky chuffs on railways of sunset. First carriage of stars slows down to let the moon climb in and tell her phase-going history, full belly among midwifery stars. A time when leaves frame my opal skin, a book his eyes read, his lips and fingers write in wet ink of breaths. He leaves marks in hidden pages, while hearts take a solo, grasp the million branches of a fire dripping sky. I lower my head to paper, pen; clumsy frogs outside an empty pond, they can but croak to a glued night.
Paula Grenside's Questions:
The poem attempts to convey how hard it is, at times, to put in words emotions and memories.
Any comment will be welcome. Thank you.