at the crimson tree of the earth clouds

water vapor dripping
from crimson
moisture into
my skin,
i touch the nakedness
of the bare
the wind blows

on a red walkway path
on mounded
hill, you walked
upon into
my dark hazels, i
saw you where
change color
in autumn
and fall
into me;

as the redness
of leaf stretches out
for light
shaped by moving
sky shapes,
i seek
your infinity
to unfasten
your smile

you are the
of dawn,
early morning
sugar maple dripping
into my
you are the breath
that verses
my thoughts, my soul
is wet;

white bee
collects the nectar
of your being,
I sip the
of your breast
to my
the sweet liquid
of your kiss,
i am yours.

Copyright © 09/01/2013 Ð Ṝ Ƣ Ñeedle & Ŧhread®



4 comments on “at the crimson tree of the earth clouds

  1. Stunning. As always, it’s your imagery that’s so compelling. Here, even though you reference autumn, your images of leaves dripping with moisture and reaching for light, of bees and nectar, create an atmosphere that’s at once cool and vibrant. One feels the chill of dawn and dew, and yet the effect of the imagery–especially on the poet–is generative: a ripe, luxuriant fertility.

    • Madeleine,

      ‘i feel the rhythm of your thoughts, it rocks me into unconsciousness… the sensation stimulates, it thrives
      in my spine, i bend towards your mouth, words so entrancing’.



      • Last time I borrowed your phrase, Lance; this time it’s Edward Estlin’s:
        …(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
        and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
        higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)…

  2. Madeleine,

    ‘words as-to sooth, as-to one drifting melancholy, leaves as-to storm fences,
    passing through… the wind blows’.



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