la jeune fille aime la lune
under the night sky
she crawls beneath bridges
to weep
there is always an angelus at midnight
a rosary of stars
that arrives at a modern port
rampant with litany,
poor spies with weak eyes
ancient with intent.
or show she is constantly unappearing
waning,
to vomit appealing with soft words
whispered
through cracked lips
at the unvaulted ceiling,
and left with her poet
garnets of prayers into poems,
a torn red coat
or madness twisted into being.
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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I think she may pray morning, noon and evening for the sadness of men, again there soft sadness in the quill that writes this that as a reader you feel palpably.
C
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The Woman with the Red Coat ...
cannot go unnoticed ... she is forever mourning the soldiers whose souls are roaming the rivers, leading to the ocean ... For the beauty of her tears ... the stars which fell from the rosary ... carry the prayers of many moons.
I totally adored this poem. It made me cry. My day is a day of crawling under bridges.
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