TSM 143

A white-tail deer moons me, 
disappears behind clouds,
and I'm moon walking in the stumble-light
  
Tripping on potholes of moonman craters 
and astronaut seas 
mirrored in puddles
  
It is way past bedtime for stoats and voles,
they watch silent horror films of hawks, 
shadows that flicker on silver screen leaves
  
The taste of time on my tongue, 
my gloves soaked and cold 
from this morning's sleet
  
I trace a line to the Pole star, 
but is my filmy world a negative, I have it all 
backwards? Am I headed South, not North?
  
I walk in light, old and yellow as sticky tape,
peeled from b&w photos 
off the bottom of the sea

The Sunday Muse

29 thoughts on “TSM 143

  1. Beautiful images that carry loss and menace at an ominous remove. Also…it may have made me want to go get popcorn and settle in for an afternoon of movies and blankets.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Glorious, dreamlike images to roam among. Love how you ended it “old and yellow as sticky tape,
    peeled from b&w photos off the bottom of the sea” It is so fitting.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I too like “tastes like time on my tongue” It’s cold and a mixed bag of precipitation here. The imagery of catching snowflakes on my tongue comes to mind, all unique in the flurry of a winter day. I like where your mind traveled and thanks for taking us along.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Great sense of being lost in the familiar, of being lost in the cinematic world. “walking in the stumble-light” – unique line that clicks with recognition.

    Liked by 1 person

        1. The biggest question I have is just how much more poetry can I milk out of the wind, sand, sea and walking the dog over the months ahead. So far so good, Nor’Easters seem to be the gift that keeps on giving, but at some point I might crack. Go full Lear out on the beach, shaking my fists like Ahab –“Fie! Fie! Blow winds, crack your cheeks!” or such. Hmm.. Note in journal…

          Liked by 1 person

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