# 13 my divines

                                 my divines

clutched in each my feeble hand,

two spheres settled, divinely planned;

december’s crimson roses sprang,

‘fore silvery song of canaries rang;

deep blankets of glistening snow, his weeping did hang,

beading sweat bedewed this earth, this cosmic yang;

merciful streams slashed fields vast,

and seas of past, so savage, ravaged civil sand,

while Sexual light, on midsummer night,

bore fingertips Lilliputian Grande;

oh, sweet these mortal sensual spheres

clutched in each my feeble hand,

but a stitch in time, not even could it save

my two divine

                                                                     for

tides colliding to rhythm of my pulse, outpoured

upon the floor, my heart bled for these adored;

discord struck frequency the fair ear could not withstand,

buried in stark basement thought was, of time, this delicate strand

whose shadows rose through virgin heavens, taking stand and

even most viridian moss declared to sun in eastern hand “we must disband”;

these wombs, flush, once fertile life, now futile strife, cried unheard,

and In effigy burned her word, two warring lords in stride abhorred;

millionth shattered bit that longing moons no longer lit,

and to my soul, ceased to befit, for it was I He so deplored;

for now you see, this i’ll ever be;

i clutch in each my feeble hand,

the remnants of two lives once planned.

                                                -l.a.