daniel lockeridge /
2 POEMS
winter in summer
I’m sad as a gull that is purely sea lost to space,
but you leave me comfortable as you silver
the banisters of your porch of candle care.
I will continue to winter, in summer, somewhere,
while wanting to hold your hand in the snow
of the waves, of the wax, of Earth-tops.
You know. I hope. And the sun is dust.
And we are upon the warmth of white wood
vast as a childhood, waiting for another colour.
Even beside the sea, frost is all that washes;
come its sneers we smile at its silvers,
laying out feathers, grateful years.
One Score and Ten
I can hear the drum nestled with me off the coast
of your March;
your gallop
through the one dewdrop
saving the steady world I frayed with frost.
A harp sounds,
like a cost,
and I release an arrow
from the deck that’s a gull, then a poor sparrow.
The wash shares the breast of a gaping meadow.
A torrent,
I balance upon a floret and trust
that the march within me
will return with clemency.
I hear today within
the running ground.
Running aground, I call back the falcons of ice.