Tuesday, September 10, 2013

There Are Cymbals In The Clouds

Once a howl like this
broke loose under the new moon
and rose past sunrise
or where it would be.
Once the wail of the old wolf
meant everything.

We fell out of love
just like the howling of dogs
afraid of the gray
wolf holding the trunk
framed in the dark shine of pride
and me in the heart
of the horn sounding
taps and you calling silence
into the cushions
calming me, humming
so quietly I believe
you've already gone.

‎September ‎9, ‎2013 9:30 PM

1 comment:

  1. haha , who wrote that about the chicken? Is that a comment or you Christopher?
    I love your poem.
    I can read it many times and i see more.
    And thank you for appreciating my writing, it means a lot to me.
    It all teaches me about poetry/life, from now on it is not so much about understanding a poem/life, knowing what the writer means, knowing what i mean, but more about if it resonates. Something like that.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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