Friday, May 14, 2010

Time and Pomegranate Wine

I am stained by pomegranate wine
watching the sun and birds crack my skin
recalling how I sucked each seed
until my tongue was red
and my fingers held
the color I spent
when persimmons sucked my mouth dry
and yet

each morning's mirror
holds the sweet gloaming sound of the sun
slipping up into another rising
and I hear where doves hide under rafters
loving feathers playing musical rooftops
with the soft snore of a dog the same

my finger's still hold the pomegranate's stain

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