A Time to Cast Stones

Your eyes were stones cast across a muddy field. They had a kind of glister.

They shone like silver in the moonlight, but it’s hard to find your eyes now

in this world of rocks. A time to cast away stones, this click clickey click

of them hitting each other. The rain is you crying.

 

Your mouth was that low-hanging crescent moon as if the moon

had fallen over. I remember kissing you, your spit just like water,

your lips like the pulsing heart of a dying deer.

 

I still see you on that hill, coming towards me with a made-up smile.

Your pupils dilated, your irises shrunken. Your face fronting ships Eastward.

Now, squashed up like an overripe fruit, falling apart so easily,

it seems I turn the other way, see the stars shining, see the birds

whining, see the ghosts murmuring, see something sprout in the

cold wet field.

 

© Michael Holloway