Tricia Vines





I thought it was the way his laugh reflected light like thin coats of fire his smile

so radiant I swore I heard the songs of summer geese passing through the northern

blue of his eyes it was only later through fears growing like onions in the dark

that his laugh became another light another song dried to its depths

a chrysalis that slipped free and fell dead to the ground only later was it plain

he was a toad rising from some sunken swamp to devour his own skin

until all that was left was a husk lying shriveled in a heap of weeds only later

through the hush of going our separate ways when all I wanted was to roll in the hot mud

of an overweight and degenerate grace longing for obliteration was it plain

he was only the light the rains made talking in my sleep—and what they spoke of

Copyright © 2003 Tricia Vines.  All Rights Reserved.

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