Keith Echo

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20 May 2008 · 2 Comments

At twilight,

Aglow in a swarm of firefly green,
dimming to cuff moments lived
along market street curbs
and early summer thunder,
I roll down the waves in your hair
onto the curves of your lips.
You smile at the lightening
in the moments I am near.

Iridescent bronze at satellite’s rise,
when eight-legs and four
chant in rapport
to dusk’s blithe diffusion.
On the edge of a marble fount
rushing past at gravity’s whim,
harmony and being alight;
alloy the myth of coupling’s fate.

I fuse your being
as foot steps through thicket
as a tempestuous breeze
consumes callow leaves.
You meld my soul
as symmetry in fathomless pools,
as impressions float in a glance
and transcend a firefly’s journey.

Categories: Chasing Cassady's Ghost · Poetry
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