AFRAID OF THE GHOST
I awoke to the same image a barren world painted in a rush by strangers seeking a fleeting reward. Heaven covered in a man-made lacquer safe from rains and from snows yet so hostile in its sterility. The vision of tranquility ended in the warm embrace of a blessed night. A sacred fancy made real by the dream vanished in the dense air of dawn fear swallowed my peace. Too soon I was to encounter the ghost made heavy with statuesque flesh replica of such welcome apparition. We would pass lives with a mere glance a polite greeting perhaps a grin to fill the veins with icy crystals. Longing for bright darkness I continued to rush through frozen hours to be so reunited with the constancy of my infinite.
SUMMER LIKE A DRESS
She wears the seasons as would a painter A-temporal with every passing present. I remember reflecting the darkness of winter Upon the somber coat so fitting upon the maiden Little girl she may have been in her latter hours. Wrapped within her warming hopes She just stepped from the last colors of fall Bearing the aura of those tender musky memories Tumbled with the corpses of a dying spring. She seems not to fear the hazards of the city A silky skin mildly shaping her own curves She strolls oblivious to the haunting moans. Today it is a light gray floating near her breast on mere walk to a seat, she may dance in timeless space.
Symphonies of Heaven
The hour glass glows dimly beneath the crashing star
it has been another hour of shivering fevers
still in the darkening room to escape the aches.
Counting the hours to the next potion
I build a future upon sacred memories
seeking the warmth of a lasting embrace.
It has been eternities since a visitor smiled
too aware of the strange aroma of doom
sweet silence may now be my cherished dream.
Symphonies to my senses rush to fill an aging soul
as I look up as a father once did, I ponder
will I enjoy the luxury of such delights as I fade.
Heaven calls with a great roar and blinding lights
clouds part to the infinite invitation as a voice
pure as all that the universe may be, softly calls my name
I now know I will float on the waves
of what was once mystery
and listen to the sounds of the creation forevermore.
Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications.
Flight of the dragonfly 