Without Heaven

The moon smiles at me
from her palace of eyes:

"We live under a broken spell"
she sings - mirror glances

on dark waters. Treacherous 
forest harmonizes with the winds,

glass promises scattered around 
the room of your rib cage, shed light - 

a curious play, an ordered mess,
living exhibition

of tries. Curse of the kinds,
homesick angels without heaven.

I’m missing a chapter,
why do we start

what cannot be stopped
why do we find

what cannot be kept.
It’s a mysterious Blues

under the sky, a perilous waltz
we all want to dance -

a time has passed, the night is done,
on the lake rehearsal of dawn. 

One last word before we part:
shall our hearts stay open

and soft.


              
  © Copyright I.B. 2016