SALVATION
He stood beside the window
and stared at a feathery cloud,
one in the shape of a beautiful woman.
The wind’s sighs
became her warm breath
upon the back his neck
as he felt himself
bleed through the glass
like a forlorn ghost,
drifting upward for companionship,
glancing downward to notice
the neighbors’ empty yards
drenched in abundant sunshine,
as he, at the moment,
floated radiant and satisfied.
He soared, her vaporous arms awaiting.
There was little he could do.
He traversed into a fantasy
that extracted him
from a reality of deep melancholy,
salvation without warning,
triggered to diminish
the angst of loneliness.
WHAT TO DO WITH INTANGIBLES
Early morning, a little snow
teases the outstretched branches
with the help of the wind.
It is cold, but inside the stove’s warmth
cradles the recliner in the lamplight
where he reads poems.
His fingers, thick and calloused,
flip pages enthusiastically
as he notices the shape of his nails,
much like his father’s, no moons rising.
And like his father had done,
it’s time to contemplate departure.
One day, the stove unlit, will dispense
the damp aroma of creosote,
the book will lie closed
upon the arm of the recliner.
One day, a relative will enter
and acknowledge that the house is empty,
no warmth, no breath, no poetry,
an indentation upon the seat
next to the book.
The change will go unnoticed
by the snow, wind, ice, and
those few crows meandering
for morsels upon the buried landscape.
He returns to reading,
the words delight him.
What would become of these joys,
he wonders.
Someone should take them.
Michael Keshigian’s twelfth poetry collection, Into The Light, was released in April, 2017 by Flutter Press (https://www.createspace.com/7037872). He has been published in numerous national and international journals including Oyez Review, Red River Review, Sierra Nevada College Review, Oklahoma Review, Chiron Review and has appeared as feature writer in over a twenty publications with 6 Pushcart Prize and 2 Best Of The Net nominations. (michaelkeshigian.com)
The first poem has me flying Hye with the cloud woman.
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