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Corriander And Cloves
by Deborah Russell

everyday keeps drifting into distance...
in the slow horizon, a fat and lazy sun shifts slightly
when snow laid down its thick and easy
and pines grew high and mighty and bold
but not like your father
and there, where star light frosted your eyes
you began to glimmer beneath a hand-painted moon
I placed a saucer of olive oil down
to read what you formed in a circle of salt
on its rainbows bubbles of tears adhered
we interpret only moments
mined, panned and captured in our hands,
our hearts became fire and  snow
I asked for a shelter
from the cold, dreary dark
you answered with a glowing coal
warming heart's desires
I wished upon magic stars
the ones that shine like silver
you begged the winter winds to cease
and all my questions were answered
before the sky could paint its face
with kohl or rouge of dawn
our feet covered many miles
our toes gripped in the dust of snow and time
time shifted in the low and hollow echoes
of green willow winds
we faced the wind and thickening white
until dust covered our circle of existence
our temporary bliss where some wishes where granted
words fell randomly from the starless sky
in paragraphs of unconnected sentences
small apostrophes fell along our path,
and all of this,  all   of   this
encompassed in a breath
without dictation
and minus the warmth
of a home and hearth, a trailing vine
and rosy mist climbed up to greet our feet
and chance swirled around the clouds
yet everyday kept drifting into distance...
I stand here with  periwinkle
making a comforter for your bed
and lay a chain of daisies near your head
my bare feet touching softly
the grass and the cool dew that is yet alive
I step upon the tessellated floor
inlaid by your design - in shades of red
now the corriander and cloves are crushed
and fill the air with memories
still everyday keeps drifting into the distance...

 

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