Song of the Silent Woods

by Sheikha A.

A thousand fireflies flocked
to rest on the moon like a robe

their sweat black like the fur
of a soil cured

the night smelled of the breath
of a death a mile away

the leaves cried against palms
of a keeling whale

would my stay, having lingered
a millisecond longer,

brought the light of your lotus
to the star-pond closer?

Would my hand have caught
in the mouth of the lark?

The selfish pond reflected
the stitches of a jade star;

from it a life came born
from scavenges of the past

my face held down in the glow
of silver amassed

but the spirit of a heart never
rested on cold sand

my immortal thirst across raven
mountains spanned –

First published in Lonesome October Lit and Duane's PoeTree