My Tidal Mistress

Nobody knows, but

I think I do.

 

I think I understand

your words like crystal castles

built as you say and broken

as you don’t, eyes

crestfallen on their very tides,

gazing like the beacons of lighthouses

upon those failing shores.

 

I am there for you, waiting

by my fire, fading,

thawing my hands and gasping

every now and again

in the chill arctic airs of your love.

 

I am roaming, never more

lost than now, upon your sands,

marooned, hair coloured in and I,

held frozen in your heart, I live

in the northernmost

chamber now, and

always, probably.

 

Keep me there, skies

of a black I paint white with my eyes,

of a darkness I light up with

every bit I am with you;

each flake of leaves, shift

in tide—No matter:

lifeless trees shall bloom

gem-green beneath sapphire domes,

and the water shall always return

to sleep with the sand.

2014/'15

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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2018

atazargarof@gmail.com

BC, Canada