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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Thursday, September 3, 2015

Summer Night

Nocturne in Black and Gold, James McNeill Whistler, wikimedia commons
Night softens the day's edges
The moon erases
boundaries
Rubs out distinctions
Sky becomes earth becomes trees
Feet become sidewalk become paws
Arm becomes leash becomes dog
Separateness becomes oneness
Footsteps blend with
the clicking of paws
the thud of heat lightening
the trill of crickets
the bass rhythm of frogs
A soup of sound,
thick and nourishing
We walk,
an aggregate of bone and skin and fur, 
wrapped in the warm muddy mist
of a summer night.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Non-FB Friday, Finding the Right Tone