Moons and oceans

And in an igneous winter
when flocks of birds hide upon evergreen branches
above a lake,
scent of pine drifting
across saddleback hills
a mind'll wander
to fishing,
role of a pike,
eyes gasping
over moonlit tent
and fireside,
harmonica song,
chords of the victor,
as if life is mainly moments
of bleached vulnerability
and rebirth,
'haps a videogame
where one plays the enemy
equipped with lesser weapons,
or some
indiscriminate extra
born solely for pain
and respawn
and again.
And as I watch
an obsidian sky
broken only
by a shifting seahorse Moon
who's still in love with you
for rumbling earth,
a crack,
spirits emerging from magma,
overlap one another
in an orgy of passion,
universal delight.
And I accept
what is
instead fumble
to the water,
cool my soul,
become a bottle
bobbing, widening,
fully charged
yet quietly bleak
and unfed.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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