Sometimes a fire

brews inside
insatiable, awkward
an "arifi" traveling
from one reticence to
another.

Private storms
bright. red.
and sometimes
obscure.

Sometimes it is only I that longs
the morbidity of storms
the silence of graveyards
the diffidence of seas.

And it is only sometimes that I am
sought in
the sorrow of ragged dusks
the salt of almond skins
the fishing boats
to sail the hum of a river.

Other times I wait
without a word, without time..
for a rain
and a waltzin Ginn
of thirsty stones.

5/8/2006 7:09 PM - First Posted