the somnambulists

The somnambulists
walk slowly,
precisely,
through the stucco promenade
made from figures
in their
minds.
Each brick,
is a fantasy
linking dreams
and gravity
like the soft, pink
umbilical cord.

Their processions,
in the darkest
space
of their minds,
will surely end
with coming of
each day.

September afternoon

I remembered that
September afternoon;
(already faraway)
how her eyes,
with strong velvet,
found desire
in the dusty photograph.

Hercules at night

Hercules weaves
the mountainside
like a fallen oak.
The moon seems distant,
surrounded by frozen stars,
as he drinks
the night.

The budding Persephone

The budding Persephone
drinks wine
surrounded by cypresses.
The crescent shadows
flowering from her
soft, olive hair,
cling at the earth.