Too illuminated to defend  . . .


Shacks of former palaces

too filled in hubris

to go without for a night.


Too dark for offense


the new moon cast obsidian on

the troops


Stole plate –no, saucer-

from the sky

as soldiers wait

for tea and coffee

to be served.

The table was wiped clean

for sommelier to present

the next bottle,


Rioja spilled on the ground


The soil took it in

as mystics did other wine

with the scribes

centuries before when the levanter

blew in

the familiar scent

of home

on their new houses.


4 thoughts on “Home

  1. This is as good a poem as I’ve read here. There is a mystic quality that especially appeals to me–as well as the technique of building disparate images that are powerful that blend together in the end as a coherent whole. This is really good work.

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