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Poetry

Moon dive chest

 

Bobak Cyrus Bakhtiyari
August 7, 2004
iranian.com

Nighttimes
It comes as dry cedarwood rubbed
On itchy palms,
A grieving terror in my rosebed chest
Of warm spring-combed flowers.
There is light,
A contour of tortured pistachio
Nutshell
Then Hermes toes.

The periphery of the garden is
Wilting
As crying pregnancy aligns the shamans
Generous threat
On the moon.
Good morning
Brings lulling creek water,
Warm water through a head of snow covered hills.
Lukewarm
On the tangling of small pine cones
In wet velvet hair.

The breezing curtain is the humming skirt of
The Angel
wake-up call.

I love you
The shine of cosmos spread-loud truth
Night eyes through my veins.
Your treatise is of the moon
I know.
There are grandma colored owls prying
Inside every one of your biconcave beads.

I promise not to tell of the seventh universe.

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