Sunday, November 8, 2015

Theresa A. Cancro- Two Poems

Sunset Leavings 

In every sunset, we die a little,
know this but hold it at arm's length.

We're in awe of fleeting hues tossed
like marbles strewn along parched earth.

Seagulls soar out of reach and taunt,
crisscross horizon and surf.

Ephemeral clouds amaze
with inimitable pink tinges.

Light fingers brush without
touching, grace before failing.

We sigh and take a seat
as the glow slowly fades.

Phoenix Whispers

The dragon glade pries spaces, roils
tangled vines like swishing tails, lost flame

lips, while her necklace of lilies
defies lengths of sighs falling

to depths through his eyes. No pure shapes
hug anymore: angles and edges, high winds

lick grass blades. Nothing is left, dried leaves
grin underfoot, ivy twines a loam death,

links each second to mine missing beats
of a stone heart's labyrinth as root veins

rasp her coffin. Now he seeks one
last glimpse of their first night together

pressed into rilled sheets of granite,
but knows carved keys won't unite them

until red lichen turns a cagey eye
south toward the crest of lost storms.

Bio: Theresa A. Cancro (Wilmington, Delaware, USA) writes poetry and short fiction. Her poems have been published internationally in both online and print journals. 

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