The Eyes of March
I painted your divine features.
Dipped the brush, with a brazen stroke
lifted you a croissant brow.
Drew your lips into a crème de la kiss
with my wand of sparkles.
Dabbed my finger,
swooshed you a nose.
But there was always that shadow
behind your eyes.
I wanted to swirl colors around them
to let the world know the way it felt
when you looked at me.
Obsessed with them,
I couldn't leave you alone.
What was round, squared.
It happened in the skuttle of night.
I plucked them out of your face,
set them in that blank space.
Slubs and gentle
shadings are a characteristic
of fine silk
yarns which give
this fabric its beauty
They are not to be considered
*First published in Verse Libre Quarterly.
Do Not Disturb
Do not use cork
to the champagne bottle.
*First published in Poor Mojo's Almanac.
copyright © 2006
(permission granted by tasha klein)