Mother

Cold huntress.
Night descends from shadows giant between the stars,
walks invisible, deadens sound.
She comes,
ice alive in chalcedony.
Drawn by dead horses, her chariot is the moon’s wing
—flowers and suns die at her touch
—her eyes bleach all colors
into pale liars.
__________________

copyright © 2010 lcmt

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.