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Moonlight Sonata
poetry [ ]

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by [ronaldanne ]

2012-07-24  |     | 

The Moonlight Sonata
coaxes light through the window,
a warm glow is between us.
Then air turns to ash and
we close our eyes.
Once when we could still see,
there were hands between us.
One a teacup, the kind saved
for the careful company.
The other a nesting bird
enveloping, gentle, weightless.
I could feel in your arms the
steel bands that hummed
with precision over a vast
network of machinery,
driving one day into the next.
The smell of heat hung on you
white heat, blast furnace heat,
skin seared to ochre, a badge,
medallion, a sign of your time.
The heavy scent of oil, grease
and solvents hung like
a shroud around your shoulders.
The shoulders from where I could
see a world shaped by the will
of your vision,
the will of your back.
I could see your hair
black, curled, swept back
by the wind or tide as
you leaned in to stand your ground
or go under for the third time.
The leather chair smelled like
smoke and grass. I could
wait for you there while you
slept, slumped, heavy breath
moist, warm on the back of
my neck.
Then our eyes are open
you speak, finally, your voice
is soft and hollow the way
morning doves purr as the
streetlights go out. All the
sadness and regret is in your eyes
so your voice can carry across
the room to meet the music halfway.
I hold your hand like a teacup,
the taste of ash, the grit, on
my tongue. I wish for wind,
any expansion of air so I can see
light through the window and
feel again
the warm glow between us.


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