Bistro 12 Flash Fiction

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High Tide     

High tide in the salt marsh and now you are a river flowing silver beneath the moon, your body filled with shadow and light. I dip my hands in dappled water. Twin gulls, they fly down stream then perch on an ice floe of half-remembered dreams. An eagle with a broken wing, I am trapped in this cage of flame. When I turn my feathers to the sun, the black and white of a convict’s bars stripe my back.

Awake, I lie anchored by what pale visions fluttering on the horizon? White moths wing their snowstorm through the night. A feathered shadow ghosts frail fingers towards my face. Butterflies stutter their kisses against the closed lips of shuttered eyes and mouth. Hands reach out to grasp me. A candle flickers in the darkness and I am afraid.

Who mapped in runes the ruins of this heart? Eye of the peacock, can you touch what I see when my eyelids close for the night? Black rock of the midnight sun, blocking the sky’s dark cave, when will I be released from my daily bondage? Last night, the planet quivered beneath my body and I felt each footfall of a transient god.

5 thoughts on “Bistro 12 Flash Fiction

    • Thank you, Al; that last line was my attempt at a Hemingway moment! It’s hard to believe, looking back, that I wrote it 14 years ago — or more, since it was already present in the 2000 poetry version (TLBL). This probably means I was working on it in the last century, not to mention the last millennium. I suddenly feel very old. I feel another footfall coming on!

      Liked by 1 person

  1. High tide in the salt marsh and now you are a river flowing silver beneath the moon, your body filled with shadow and light.

    I loved this, Roger! It is great fun to read really layered and dense prose. So much to think about and absorb…

    Liked by 2 people

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