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Rocking Towers

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Tonight, the void creeps

in, with him, through

the wood framed doors.

                                    cold

like a heap of ash after

a day underground.

                                    Hair-splits

the bone, the eager heart, the eyes

that follow every gesture.

 

What survives now of the tower dream,

the stone skipping and the wishing well?

 

Both hands pressed against the T.V. set,

trying to block the talk

                                    and hold

the cut and thistle.

 

Both lovers glancing at the street lights’

glare, waiting

for the other to give

                        the word –

a blue blue touch

farewell.

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© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst 

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

 

 

 

First published in “Medusa’s Kitchen” October 2018

http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2018/10/even-though.html

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Published in “Harvest” 1996

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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