. . .One evening near dusk
(WRITER’S NOTE: This is an offering from my secret stash of abstract/prose poetry that I have never been able to publish. Now I feel it is time. Make of this journey of metaphorical symbols what you like. I give these words of the heart to you, the poets, singers, musicians and silent people with special gifts that are overlooked. And sadly, ignored. With respect, Kenneth Avery).
Walking, struggle-talking to the death-like cloak, I saw . . .
Beyond, beneath, bloody visions lost.
Her flames for eyes, not sighing a sound . . .
I bowed, silently struck.
Darkness smiled, doves last song I sensed . . .
Slipping to a vanishing flicker,
Frozen, when sunrise mocking her fell.
No shoes. No sonnets. No tongue . . .
A door she became.
No name. No touch. A grain of heartless sand.
No will. No fire. The wings I held.
As slowly-crafted shadows moaned . . .
My feet. Her feet. No bindings between.
Silk for kiss. Master’s miss
Absorbing Reaper’s edge.
A memory. A time. A moment to sign.
Eagle’s memory I see.
Lightning, her crown,
Laughter, her gown,
A mist. A deafening heart.
Reaching. Blinded to seeing . . .
A time she was.
I am no more.