Blue Swans, Blue Stars

He said I was blue swans, blue stars,
a painted cup on a sill, reflected  lights in the rain.
I said I am a burning book, cinders, char. 
He said I was blue swans, blue stars.
I said I am a loosened stone, gravel, tar.
He whispered, honey and  hemlock sing the same.
He said I was blue swans, blue stars,
a painted cup on a sill, reflected lights in the rain. 

day 17



Mama Zen said…
Wow. This is perfect.
Anonymous said…
He whispered, honey and hemlock sing the same.

well, he got that right ....

this is just perfect ... loved the little dance word play ... and yeah, even cowgirls get the blues - thumbing a ride somewhere, hun?
. said…
Grrr. Stop telling the girl what she is when you clearly don't know her. Either learn to love gravel, or get out, dude. She isn't a dainty thing on a sill. She's all grit.

Or maybe I'm misreading. I just hate the idea of biker babes having to be ladies.
hedgewitch said…
Though I am in love with your villanelle, this may be my favorite of the ones I missed--brevity is the soul of so much besides just wit, and here it makes every word glow and charm like the spell it is. Love has a different vision than we do, even or maybe especially, of what we are...the allure of love is that it can remake us, at least for awhile, into the visions of what we might want to be, even if we know better. Or so I read/respond here.

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