Suppose a Scream
Where animated flowers swoon
To crooning creatures still awake,
The fog grows thicker over the lake.
The air winding through the weeds
Is warm enough to bloom new seeds,
Sowing shelter for the shroud,
So screams, when screamed, are never loud.
Hand-in-hand I stand with Jen
On a path carved by years of sin.
She kisses my neck then tilts her head
To look at the fog making a long soft bed
Above the lake, under the potent moon.
I tell her this shroud has a tune
That makes limbs tremble til they stop,
For the water always needs another drop.
She turns to me with a quizzical stare,
Brushes her hands through my hair.
With moon-doused eyes she asks
If I believe the night is just a mask
For what can’t be seen by the sun
When all is said and done.
I tell her she’s precious and wise,
That the night is surely a disguise
For places too beautiful for words,
Too shrouded to welcome morning birds,
Here, only the unknown can remain
If the tune is to keep a quiet man sane.
She says that secrets can’t be kept,
That all tracks show where we stepped.
I turn around to see no tracks on the path,
Then ask if she heard the Shroud Bath.
She answers no and starts to tremble.
I smile without eyes and feel her nimble
Hand part from mine as she steps back.
I grab her body before she falls slack.
I ease her down to the mossy ground
And ask her to whisper what loud sound
Awakes the unconscious from a dream.
She whispers, with tears, “I suppose a scream.”
I wrap my hands around her throat,
As the bed of fog stays afloat.
I squeeze tighter then give her a kiss.
Her moon-doused eyes I will miss.
But the air winding through the weeds
Is warm enough to bloom new seeds,
So I tuck Jen into the sinking wraith,
A secret kept silent by her blind faith.
Brian Celio, © 2009
very good, look forward to view your other articles
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