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.