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Last night you flowed the taste
of caramel through my waking
dreams, an amber warmth
your words attuned electric
pin pricks at the outermost
the tips of all I slowly plant
along the roads in memory
of our clustered peregrinos.

Golden light is hard
to see when camouflaging
plum shades and sienna fill
the crevices of under-watered
lives, and when I try too hard
to look at you the stripes
of dark and light like jailbirds
scar my eyes, and no one
warned me hornets sleep
in petalled sheets of rose—
so much for smelling you!

New music to my ears
of late, compels, and touching
well requires more than
garbled tongue
and fingertips.

For now, it is enough
that certain gates be closed
the sumac knows which
flavours to admit & hawk
she loves the taste
of fresh caught
prey and gravity.


© Elaine Stirling, 2013