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Will you read my poem (03), if you must?
[Wine of May]
I 've never seen your icon front-straight
some weeds on a deserted slate
I was looking for a Sunday...
My hands clenching the windows ledge
searching a crucifix sharp wedge
one sorrow of our May...
You turned in, a later feast, became
(of these nights only a claim)
a barren route to travel.
How many routes upon ocean ways
to travel along our fog's haze
to far away marginal isles?
I didn't meet you in those cold nights
you were in clay bricks and lights
my lonely soul's census.
Remember me during Septembers
cold first rains, my mind's embers
our lost way of Spring...
Was it an invitation of Maenads
or a trial upon dead errands
one of my remaining wounds?
My ash was inside an ancient vase
or we routed nice, an embrace
traveling together in light...
Maybe you decided to serve me aptly
in a corner, bend to kiss me softly
sweet red wine of May?
I like the 3 line stanza format you used.
And you used it very well, with a smooth, flowing voice.
Good, creative and "out of the box"
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