recent poems

the moons and the stream

we all share light in our heart
and finally all night at the right time
with our arms in rain
and devotion due to the beauty

for moons and rivers form wilds and idles
the absent night built from something
once there was a sky

ought I lay out light to be read
we are the muse of pens
and streams of dreams no more of remorse

to eyes in pools of the old lake, now buried in vine
some dreams of the heart without reason
the dirt of light, washed from our hands
all this in the season, as the plow man awakens

this is a poem by Tom Blood

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