April 30, 2014

Two Summers Ago by Michael Holme

I wept. Life
began to close in.
Daylight was a veiled bride
and nighttime was Valium.

Sleep was over fifteen
thousand reminders
of my foolish longings.
I’d woke in company
four times.

I gradually thawed. 
Life stubbornly moulds,
dragging its own scruff.

Two summers ago
metamorphosis began.

I mock lovers
and religious sheep.

We’re levelled,
that’s it:
furness plumes sinking,
seeding our arboreal continuance.

Michael Holme is an English poet and musician. When not reading, writing or playing he’s online. Some of his poems can be googled, others are in print in Boston Literary Magazine, Kestrel, Time of Singing and PRR. He studied poetry with Alison Chisholm.

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