Twilight ramblings

The odor of bruised herbs
on my fingers mingling -
rosemary and sweet basil.

(where is the man of no intent)

I wander along the garden path
staring into the flickering light
that frames this last hour of the day.

(is there such an animal)

The mockingbird sings the segue
into evening’s deepening shades;
its airs gently rustling - lifting.

(lead me not into temptation)

The tomato vine heavily
accepts its imperative
of forbidden fruit.

(any jurist would accuse me)

The earth wraps itself around me
(it is my own lust I’m fleeing)
to chasten my heart.

(he is pulled into my web)

I lay myself down.
(to be drained and left dry as a husk)

Copyright 2000 Melissa Songer