Down the Street

Down the Street

between the moon hanging in its gleaming track
and a pool of spotlight,
a girl in a black dress is dancing.

She weaves her arms and her hair whips -
blazing tracks to caress shoulders.
and it is all I can do not to fall in love with
the siren song of her skirt flashing against her legs.

Underneath the bright lights,
I lose my haze and drop confusion
in my wake. Down the street,
There is a girl in a black dress dancing a love song.

She steps out of the light for the space of
a heartbeat
smiles

Down the street there are green eyes smiling through
a breaking wave of thick hair.

She spins, her feet leaving the ground,
and she’s falling outside of the light –
Down the street, in a rush of salt air and igniting humidity,
I’m catching hold of a
hurricane in a black dress.

City in a Birdcage

Finally pulled this one out. Been wrestling with it for a couple of weeks, easy - took some inspiration from one of my friends to make it really happen.



City in A Birdcage

Fading August evening light
slips its way over us,
dancing on the rails of the edge of Charleston,
sunset on a city in a birdcage.

Summer flies away over the edge of the canyon –
orange light slipping through trees coated sepia,
blazing onto my face with all
of the soft caress of redemption. Orange light
bringing strength to stand –
strength to hold in and weather the
screaming gales of September.

Summer ending on a smile
and a wave as the traveling circus
folds its tents, collapsing smiles
and a lullaby into the echoing
keys of a piano.

Dancing on that rail,
in the slanting sunlight through the
metal lining of this
birdcage,
I am grinning for all of the reasons not to.

In one moment, the last summer sunset ends,
leaving us spinning on the slate tiles of that sea wall.

We’re all lions these days,
roaring ourselves out to the river at midnight,
underneath the strange low moon and
between all of the man-made havens of streetlights,
shouting our freedom in the
silence of Wednesday night Charleston.

And later, walking home,
north up Meeting Street,
all of the frogs in the bushes are howling.