The Sun Returned With Her

The night she broke her bridle

and fled

possessed by that

giant black moth of despair

that sometimes comes to her,

I went out into the streets

in pursuit

until my soul was hoarse.

The night she broke her bridle

I thought I’d never

get her back,

that all my efforts

to make a garden of her love

were lost.

And all I found

were the traces of

her phantom sadness,

the dark blots

of hemorrhaged shadows

that she became that night.

The night she broke her bridle

the death of the universe

raged in her,

the closing fist

of the final fear,

the last flailings

of the drowning sun.

And when she returned

in the morning,

the sky was perfectly cloudless,

and the sun, impossibly,

returned with her.

And her soul was so calm

as it hummed in the

warm void of the day.

And I saw that

I’d have to start my garden

all over again.

 

 Copyright Ricky Barrow 2014

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