Evensong: Blue

evensong: blue


blue shadows climb the rounded slopes of the hills
like hands modelling the shape of a lover's thighs
shooting stars hurl themselves into the empty spaces
burn up just for the pleasure of it
I hold my eyes open for the light to develop on them
like a photograph

I reach for you whose fingers are a poem
whose blue eyes are as clear as the high note
on a violin
you wear this blue light like a song

I am become the bearer of words that ring like gongs
that tumble like flutes made of human bones
I hold hope between my palms
like the flame of the last match

through the fog in the harbour below
the world continually creating and erasing itself

by GORDON GILHULY

Comments (4)

Now, that's a love poem! ! !
the shape of a lover's thighs fingers are a poem the high note on a violin shooting stars, pleasure, like the flame of the last match All these very fine lines, i collected from your poem after carefully reading your poem. just loved reading it. you are original and so much passion you have in your words... thank you dear poet. tony
A nice lovely start. Thanks
I am become the bearer of words that ring like gongs that tumble like flutes made of human bones I hold hope between my palms like the flame of the last match lovely lines of a beautiful poem.