Wet With Rain

Wet With Rain
My heart mourns
the loss of words
once ribboned into poems
now empty – a clothesline
between two poles.

My throat lumps
at the muddle of notes
no longer giving voice
to windstorms or the sky
holding its breath.

My eyes mist over
the just-before-moonrise
when twilight offers its nakedness
on a purple breeze
and wild bergamot wet with rain.

And my lonely heart,
lost in a mulberry thicket,
longs for the night when the moon’s halo
no longer lingers, long and sweet
on your lips.

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