By Carol Moon
I love that you call me on cold, rainy days. Looking for warmth of my heart to soothe your abused soul, you dissolve into me.
And when you’ve run so far away and are lost in the world, I’ll send the sun. Let her sunshine remind you of my touch, eyes closed, lost in a memory only the two of us share . . .Read More
Red silt and sediment.
The gathered rust of tapered centuries
where weakly crumbled canyon clay
had turned to mud when there was water there
then dried to dust
along which treads
a faceless charcoal pencil-sketch wanderer,Read More
There is one night that I remember in particular. It’s the night when you and I laid on the field next to the old town library and looked up at the star-strewn sky. Do you remember the night? I can remember the way the full moon lit your face in the darkness. It was almost like you were up on a stage, the spotlight following your every move, and I the only one in the audience. The seasons had just turned and there was a light breeze in the air. You wanted to go to the field to see if any flowers had grown yet. I told you that it was too early for any flowers to have grown, but we went anyway. I grabbed your hand as we walked along the shortcut through the woods and you clenched my hand with a fearful strength.
We never went home that night and when the sun came up over the old town library the next morning, we awakened to a feeling of warmth in the air. The light breeze had stopped blowing and the branches had stopped rustling. . .Read More