You could be addicted to emptiness,
in particular mine more than others.
As if my way of offering fulfillment
required a reversal of what you assume
to be a branch stripped of green
down to the buds black beginning.
Is this why lips feel no pain
when branding the heart with lies,
when disengaged the mind pretends
it has nothing to do with silence
and the romance we have with rope?
At least admitting mutual affection
for seasons after the burning ends,
like swans who only dream of flying,
cursing the wind and rain,
we are the garment of thick, blue ice,
proving how wrong the light can be
about its power to save what the ground
will not release to the sky.
I could be addicted to light,
in particular yours more than others.
Daniel Moore’s poetry has been widely published in journals such as: The American Literary Review, Western Humanities Review, Laurel Review, Cream City Review, The Spoon River Poetry Review, Rattle, River Styx, Phoebe, and others. He lives in Washington on Whidbey Island where he is working on his manuscript, “Waxing The Dents.” He currently has work in the Flint Hills Review, Steel Toe Review and El Portal. He has work forthcoming in Paper Nautilus, the Coe Review and Dewpoint.
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