TSM 144

With holes in their necks
where they might have last kissed 
or nuzzled,
not one, but two deer, frozen,
gently surface 
from a dune on the shore.

Their empty eye sockets
gaze upon each other –
bridal veil of sand pulled back 
by the sea –
ritual minister of joy
and last rites.

Were they driven from their families,
a hunted Romeo and Juliet?
Did they come down to this water
like you and I
to drink and die together from the beauty 
of sunrise?

My black jacket flapping
in the wind,
I join ravens
picking at the choice bits.

I hear your voice –
snow owl, prophetic wife, 
your scorn stiff with salt
and rime.

The Sunday Muse

23 thoughts on “TSM 144

  1. Stark images, unsettling. The voice in this is great. Your word choices, filled with the sacred and sacrilegious, put me on edge and then assuming the raven persona makes it all the more surreal. Well done!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I so love this poem. I wanted to copy and past the whole thing.

    “Their empty eye sockets
    gaze upon each other –
    bridal veil of sand pulled back
    by the sea –
    ritual minister of joy
    and last rites.” What an impressive visual

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Definitly a trouble here.
    It is in my troubleshooting nature as an Aerospace Engineer to find reasons and solutions for problems.
    I would say that there must have been a terrible drought and its famine in much of Africa. And that a modern day Noah and his crew rounded up some survivors and brought them here. Thus he saved their species and humanity for another period.
    ..

    Liked by 1 person

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