To Michelangelo Antonioni

A dog, breathing the moon, breathed in the night,

And a hungry bird, looking askance, took flight.

This happened in a field of tall, sparse grass,

Yellow, green, and wavy like the overpass,

Below which small rodents burrowed their homes

In the soft, humid, and root entangled loam.

You were among them, in the natural night,

Which curved and arced, and flourished in a street light,

That seemed to punctuate its solitude

Searching, ever dim, air ever-renewed.

You turned to ask, in the cold electric fire,

“When, Romeo, will nature tune thy lyre?”


One thought on “Lovers

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s