Howl
Don’t bother with the moon
howl instead at love
that weaves your breath with another’s,
sharing the intimacy of oxygen
only to take it back
while you still need to breathe.
Howl at the vampire of memory,
who broods in the labyrinth of empty rooms
and hedge mazes of remembered events.
Howl at loneliness that fills the lungs
and drapes itself heavily around the shoulders
while memories pile up
on your side of the bed.
howl instead at love
that weaves your breath with another’s,
sharing the intimacy of oxygen
only to take it back
while you still need to breathe.
Howl at the vampire of memory,
who broods in the labyrinth of empty rooms
and hedge mazes of remembered events.
Howl at loneliness that fills the lungs
and drapes itself heavily around the shoulders
while memories pile up
on your side of the bed.
CP
Nancy Calhoun recently retired from corporate America. She has also sung opera part-time (quite well known in places no one has ever heard of). She lives in a small ranch town in southeast Arizona, in a home nestled in grasslands on a hill surrounded by mountains. Its beauty inspires her every day as she writes by the window, with opera playing on her Ipod.
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