by
William Shiloh Danan
She
dances through my dreams,
Weighed down by the grievous moments of day and night,
Spinning on
battlements, the shadow of her angel
Long since
withering.
Along the
banks of her
gossamer madness,
I am poised in infallible hallowness,
Sainted by the blessing of intention
To pluck her from every
watery procession.
Her
garments plead
With the
heaviness of my drink.
"
Pray Love, Remember"
She lays in her mumbled
sacraments,
Torn maidenheads fluttering in
garlands of mockery.
Slipping from
naked lips, her bitter gifts dropping
In sighed, sweet song.
And I, the long cloaked savior,
Haunt all the
courtyards
Where she might be singing
Clutching at fingers too soon whetted and
pruned.
Her
rosemary blooms
In every bower I pervade
"Pray
Love, Remember"
There's a
willow aslant a
brook
Where every
snatch of old tunes
Is sung by my heart from her
drowning mask.
There is stone and
slipper
Where her distraction shall reveal
My betrothal to her fall.
And on either side of this tumbled grace,
I hover to
bait release.
For I
court Delirium
In
brides that hang between.
So, "Pray Love,
Remember"
Posted with gracious permission of William Danan...I just had to add this message from him...
I'm sure you know, as a writer, how you slave and sweat over one child,
while another pops out almost unnoticed. And it is, invariably, that
child,
the one that stands looking at you while you herniate your hand and
heart
over another, who attains the notice... and invariably the troublesome
birth
that fades...