Dark Oktas

dark night sky_Fotor

None for a Summer sky, celestially glimmering, lavender, rich with sound
One for the arc of night, moon-lit, a promise of midnight rain
Two for her smudge-lined sketch, high, over a Play School house
Three for an April storm; fast-racing, surging, drench-me-quick
Four for Autumn morn, back lit, burnt umber and red
Five for urban up-rising, flat bottomed, threatening yet bright
Six for the Hammer God, chimney stacked, brooding, looming
Seven for Winter’s warning, a herald, on the very edge
Eight for the blanket, dark as eve, doom-laden, smothering

A whisper through leaves

There she is again; the voice, dulcet, soft
half-sung, semi-distant
audible, but faint; clear, yet indistinguishable
a whisper to me, gently, skin to skin
lip to ear, touching
a caress, sonic, wave forms that reach out, unseen
and come to shore with the riffle
of brine water over beach stone
or morning breeze through beech leaves
an echo, of past lives and what will become