The Microphones of Stars

Gillian_ferguson_photo_high_resby Gillian K Ferguson02 Oct 2013

You have heard me singing
through the microphones of stars.

So high and silvery – piccolo soprano.
Beautiful and dangerous as Mercury,
my lustrous love song.
It has the poking bones of poetry.

My tongue has licked the huge Moon
before your luminous blue nightskin -
my mouth is a glowing hole in darkness.

My words and kisses glitter - solidify
to rings, silvering your branded fingers.
This is starlight scorching crushed lips.

We are our own immortal compass.
Wherever you breathe - in all your ages,
the cloying sea mimics it to me.
The shore has written your golden bones
on broken sand, in shattered shells.

Swarms of bluebells say your eyes,

and the lonely mad lochan
staring only at Heaven since the start.
Transmuting dragonflies –
cast in the first dreamy, organic metals –
which irritate his cobalt eye
with scintillating swoops, to birds.
Beginning with the hummingbird.
Which became an eagle, cast in gold.

In all the unbound volumes of time -
human poetry of emotional Evolution,
I see we are taken from one another,
my love,

by hilariously few years.