*
my feelings this time
don’t want to stay on
paper or even reach it
there’s is a modesty
to them as they rise
from my aging family
I move from pangs
of anxious pain to
serenity as giving
honor to vulnerability
brought forth a new
sweetness to be
savored alone
.
.
.
*
till the day
we will be a clumsy
and ill-fated arrangement
of bones held together by love
when gratitude sailed with us
far away deep into the years
past crumbling or lines
holding our days
.
.
.
.
.
*
.
shall I describe to anyone
now or when I’m old
the many bosoms of
the Mediterranean gulfs
.
that fill my heart periodically
since I was fourteen I think
I would have not imagined
to be here still after all
.
I visited the metropolis
I lived in and left as a capricious
gets tired of lovers the oceans
I crossed the skies I consumed
.
I keep on being called here
to have my days emptied
to skim thoughts to the bones
to love those bones
.
.
annamosca 