art credit hohli @ www.hohli.com
Evening Sun was stuck in a tree
gleamed with all of its might
piercing every leafless space
curled upon limbs great and small
From across slowly swaying barley,
above stalking corn in sensuous beards
between the vining tomatoes, as I pinch
ripe succulence yet to be
through thicker glass of kitchen windows
painted cinnamon apple and cobbler memories
where the evening flowers have begun to ooze
an exchange of honeys with this busy hive;
it is stuck there, a stained glass bundle of life.
The old crown upon grassy rise, sky wand
above a gentle swale, a prison of a golden glow
I would not see so quickly go, not until
the Moon is ready for her stage, and I have
taken my place with the throng of hungry stars
each in our own ways needy, in thirst
for the kiss of a moonbeam, to be held
silent caress of night air and the heart
tries to capture its silver lover.
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