Marriage House

By Fred Dale

Darkness being the flower of light,

I breathe back the candle’s flame

until it pops off the wick,

returning the house to sleep,

where you lie in love, lost

in the holding patterns of dreams.

 

We move into houses

and become them. I listen,

settling into the walls, the dark

corners. The art of light the moon

turns down disturbs

the song of budding, yet

 

the shadow limbs rise and fall,

moved by your influence,

a greater tide.

I lean on the window frame

in need of repair. My own ghost,

slipping away into place.

 

—–

Fred Dale lives in Jacksonville, Florida and is a Senior Instructor in the English Department at the University of North Florida. He is also Co-Instructor of Arts Inside, a program that teaches art and creative writing to jailed juveniles.


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