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  • John Grey

John Grey: Two Poems

Taking a Moment Out From Perfection to Tell You This

Early fall evening,

full moon slowly ascending

that invisible arc over the lake.

I'm sitting on the porch,

accompanied by nothing

but bodiless sounds

and the gentle lapping of water.

I'm alone

but pleased with a self

drawing close to its true nature,

a breath for every gust of wind.

a heart-beat cased in shadow,

thoughts pared down to the good in them.

The chirp of crickets

provides rhythm

to the various lilting solos

of mind and imagination.

while the moon,

that paragon of skies

past, present and future,

oversees but does not begin to rule.

I smile

just this good side of smug.

I sigh

in case that smile needs reassurance.

Air clear.

weather calm.

A spawning ground of peace--

short of a lover,

what more is there?

Awaiting Her Arrival

At sunset,

the window is my homage

to how what's out there

mirrors what's in here.

the crieket vibrato

and my nervous breath,

the red horizon

and two glasses of merlot,

one in my hand,

the other like a flagon of my blood

resting on the coffee table.

Songbirds concede the stage

to occasional silent bats.

My predictable day gives way

to the prospect of night.

Shadows creep in,

steal away familiar details.

This room is bright enough

but, somehow, the light from a bulb

can achieve the same trick,

depleting the functionality

of all that's around me

until everything from fire place to stereo

are no more than bit players

in how I look,

how charming 1 can possibly be.

The window reflects half of myself,

fills the rest with darkness.

That's as much as I can expect

before she gets here.


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