Love in November
When you're falling from a thirteen story ledge.
What is love? A smile before your eyes,
While sinking to the sea-floor.
I imply,
Perhaps, that love is futile: not at all -
The falling soul wants comfort in its fall,
It is her place to learn the pillow's place:
to cushion? No -- it's something to embrace.
The sinking soul must take a crooked mouth
As evidence the business she's about
If not to get afloat, at least might be
To rage against the power of the sea.
(Image Credit: Dan Barak)
3 comments:
So heart-achingly beautiful, Jason.
Thank you, Ms Debi.
Oh beautiful as always Jase…I've missed your poetry and I've told you this before, but I really would love to see it collected in print somewhere someday :)
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