Thursday, August 27, 2015

Most Recent Poem

                 Milkweed Dreams

On a hill beside the lake milkweed pods 
split silently, taking days to create an improbable
cotton field caught in light of a low slung Maine 
late October sun. Growing to white gold before 
sunset, before a cold clear night when hunter's 
moon, a magic naked diver, hangs bewitched and bare
above the water. The bashful moon waits for 
a cloud to cover her. The night waits for the 
slightest breeze when milkweed seeds may drift off
unseen, as faces in a dream you know you
had but can't remember. Seedpods open as 
two small hands in supplication. Signal: Please,
let this breeze carry us to fertile ground, not lakes

or this dream is one from which we never wake.

        I did better in posting this time.With reference to the previous post: the sun was bright and warm before the picture window this morning at 6:13 AM. I carefully avoid adding any porn.

1 comment:

  1. This is beautiful, Robert, a treasure, steadily surging with loveliness, like the gentle breezes the milkweed pods--initially my eyes misread them as gods--open as if to summon, and thereby implicitly invoke. So gratifying to find, this "improbable cotton field" on this improbably beautiful, after two weeks of air so invisibly oppressive, late August day. Let me repeat, a treasure! (Ken Rosen)