Fabric
The first person to touch
the fabric
Fell into a crystal sway of
capture,
Held still by its ice.
Then the next, then the
next.
All told, hundreds gripped
it
Before realizing to handle
with care.
Now the fabric rests behind
a curtain,
Carried there delicately
By outstretched arms.
To destroy the fabric would
be impossible.
Every now and then a child
or an old
Person with forgetfulness
still stumbles in
And has to be unfrozen again.
Desmond Dark
He’s got the shades,
Of course, the dark
armor
Underneath a long
ebony coat.
He brings the night
with him,
Even at the beach.
A sudden tempest,
the pasty
Sunbathers buried in
shadow.
He can’t help it,
it’s his power,
It’s his art, the
swirling of chocolate
Thick evening comes with
his passing.
He hasn’t seen the
sun in years,
And though tough,
cries for its blazing
Memory.
The Tangle
We began to walk
earnestly enough,
Then were pricked by
thorns.
Stung by the
occasional bee.
We were ready to
head back, but the vines
Would now allow it.
So we trudge on
endlessly, occasionally
Sustained by some
twigs, a bit of fruit,
Skin stinging with
disobedience
To those who told us
never to venture
JD DeHart is the author of the chapbook, The Truth About Snails. He is a staff writer for Verse-Virtual and his blog is jddehart.blogspot.com.
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