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.
rogermoorepoet 
I would echo the comment about the prose being layered and dense. That last line is incredible
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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!
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It takes a lifetime to craft a moment, my friend!
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Glad you liked it, Tanya. It will re-appear in a minute as part of my Writing or Re-Writing 5. I will be very interested in your take on that.
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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…
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