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Winter Makes Me Think These Things — Daniel Moore

on January 3 | in Poetry | by | with No Comments

You could be addicted to emptiness,

in particular mine more than others.

As if my way of offering fulfillment

required a reversal of what you assume

to be a branch stripped of green

down to the buds black beginning.

Is this why lips feel no pain

when branding the heart with lies,

when disengaged the mind pretends

it has nothing to do with silence

and the romance we have with rope?

 

At least admitting mutual affection

for seasons after the burning ends,

like swans who only dream of flying,

cursing the wind and rain,

we are the garment of thick, blue ice,

proving how wrong the light can be

about its power to save what the ground

will not release to the sky.

I could be addicted to light,

in particular yours more than others.

 

 

Daniel Moore’s poetry has been widely published in journals such as: The American Literary Review, Western Humanities Review, Laurel Review, Cream City Review, The Spoon River Poetry Review, Rattle, River Styx, Phoebe, and others. He lives in Washington on Whidbey Island where he is working on his manuscript, “Waxing The Dents.” He currently has work in the Flint Hills Review, Steel Toe Review and El Portal. He has work forthcoming in Paper Nautilus, the Coe Review and Dewpoint.

 

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