Beat blackness away,
of cool lakes and gardens—
the scent of peaches
where sun honeys skin and rocks.
What if the storm still screams?
The sea sprays blue whispers,
and the moon sings through shadows
with silvered light-music
recalling all the whys of love.
From my Saturday visit with the magnetic Poetry Oracle. I forgot to take a screen shot of the tiles. It’s been one of those days already, and it’s not even noon.