Life With Horace

poetry & essays


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the night ship

there are times the moon
invades my room
as opal fingered fog
touching eyes and skin
and as the night sets sail
around me into sleep
I sense joyous dreams
that dance just out of reach
or sober trailers on the fringe
unwelcome memories to push away
tear welded flashes
from the day just lived
but not now not yet
as life’s flow
starts to telescope
slow sinuous twisting
to its vanishing point
each night explodes with color
and a shadow life
of longing
whose breadcrumb bursts
stay with me
as the sun returns
in counterpoint
to unquiet rest