The Ghastly Groan

First night's hours perfumed in petrichor

A river of contemplation arises in steady flow.

Peelings form the locust, rafting their rolls

Capsizing silence by ghastly groan.

I saw the days in solemn shine

I swallowed my ghosts

Before they swallowed my mind

Sitting swiftly in autumn rain

Counting leaves; water-stained.

And forever waiting until days are done

The air, it's sweet, on frozen tongue.

Nightingale, its song in tune,

Its cambered notes driven from roof.

Under somber yellows and maids maroon

The dirt has eaten their cracked cacoons

The scowling, the prowling, these haunting confessions

The needing, the hurling, the curling, forgetting...

A ghost-pulse kissing. Lips pressing.

Arms at rest, coalescing.

Hair damp, July humid,

Shower cap: a pullout cupid 

October Rust: Be My Druidess