Saturday, November 11, 2006

No Place Like

No Place Like

Don’t say that my heart is the moon;
you aren’t the earth and my love is not a distant

satellite, pulled. My heart isn’t that sharp curve,
a scythe that rises only under cover of darkness.

My heart is not that hole when the moon
is new and its light, absent. My heart is not full;

it does not call to wolves or signal harvest.
My heart is a witch. My heart is a dog.

My heart is a brick. My heart is a tornado,
a wind spinning back on itself. My heart can tear

a house apart. Don’t you get it? My love is oil
and straw. My love is a fear-filled roar. My love

is the red field that lulls. My love is heels. My love
is the road. My love is the impossible journey home.

4 comments:

keros said...

Body Language: fist closed, arm at an angle of 135 degrees, driven hard in downward motion.

Mouth says: Yesssssss

Brian Boutwell said...

Laurel, I confess, I really like your love.

Ivy said...

Wow, LKD! This rocks hard. :-)

LKD said...

Thanks, you three, for your kind words here.