Coup de Sol

The sun has hidden its face today, shamed
In the wake of coloured luminance, bold
And on your high horse you gallop swiftly
Into sunsets of magenta and gold,
Rivers of patented pewter gleaming
And blinding mercilessly without fear.

Curls of flame, searing into spot fires,
The reigns, knotted and fibres reworking
Covering the knuckles in tubes of thread
You buck and pull and thunder down the ridge,
Wide open nothingness with bends and forks
While the clouds speed along.

Biting wind clips the nape, you swing and call
Yet only the sun stares straight in your eyes

Poetry by Caila Ihle
Read 376 times
Written on 2006-07-29 at 03:47

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