© 2017 Steve King
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He leaned so naturally,
bent to shadow by the moon.
He asked if I had a match.
‘I don’t smoke, myself,’ he said,
‘but I must look to my watch,
for the times are old.’
So soon, it gathers like a dream,
the waiting while his moon burns hot,
and all my world grows cold.
A poem for Joy Jones’
Friday 55
Steve this is very illusive work, which of course, is the kind I like--it hints and promises and leads the imagination beyond the words. I particularly like 'bent to shadow by the moon..' and the sense of time itself being shadowy but certain in an unknowable sort of way...and a light that needs to burn. Thanks so much for contributing to a very kickass weekend-to-be. (The prompt will post at 1:00 am.)
ReplyDeleteThere is something about the tone of this piece, about the dialogue.. that makes me look into the shadow that is him... searching for the source of the cold...
ReplyDeleteThanks for stopping by, Magaly. My opinion is that someone is meeting Death on a street corner, but there are other valid interpretations, I'm sure. Sometimes I try to be sly and clever, but end up being obscure. This might be one of those times.
DeleteLike Joy, I like the "bent to shadow by the moon" part best. You have set a mood here that promises a whole past and, at least for one of them, future colored by that past.
ReplyDeleteYou've set the mood well, Steve. Mysterious, foreboding and otherworldly.
ReplyDeleteI think looking at the watch signals time is growing more precious as if a limit has been placed. There is still a feeling of warmth though breath itself is cold.
ReplyDelete