Dirty dry pools.

Blackbirds unhindered through the fog

carring fire and brimstone on their back,

responding like echoes to solace

crossing bridges, in the shoes of a forest,

darkened from rain, undercover rain.

The wind, death of an emotion, breath

peeling the hard pine-skin of the night,

moonflights inside  fall's spring,

dirty dry pools, small passions

looking from under-water,

after swimming resting bones

on shores of mortality unrolled to fulfillment.

Human happiness

no more counting the years, but the speed beats

of excited heart, no scars opening

like flowers at midnight,

no hands compassing like feathers

too large to motivate the winging,

but all abounding, savoring, smiling.

Time is a ghost

that sleeps on my breasts, uninvited,

dirty dry pools are filled with all from the pure

and you exit from out of my dress

like out from the sea.

copyright, 2010. Tihana Novosel