Three Poems
by: Ana Prundaru



Black Jack Moon

Accompanied by the whips of wind 
owls scan the asphalt for edibles.
The sun cooked 
its sins, till
they melted with the foliage of desolate roads,
into a sprinkle of fireflies;
guides to the beginning 
of the end.

While we stay in tonight - you promised
to paint me in the color of smoke - the highways
come to life with drivers
cleaving their oysters, in hopes 
for the black pearl
to carry away sorrows
into the depth of the sea.

Wretched howls of the gray wolves 
form a backdrop 
for the hollow yelps
of the shrews.


UNRESTED

Clasped onto your wrist, 
my fingers,
tenuous veins pulsating black. 
Your love-soaked lullaby,
reaped hollowness 
a deracinated blossom nobody sees.

As midnight swallows your voice,
your body, perfectly
paralyzed in reverie.
Outside the door, the dead 
of the moon shadow,
traces of yesterday melt
foraged birch trees, 
along my heartfelt wish,
to silently surrender this fretting soul 
to your feet.

A ruckus of yellow jackets, broken wings and all,
becomes one with wiggled roots of an ageless tree,
the stars paved the way to a meadow, 
so familiar, like the splendor
of a heart ripped out.

I tuck you in, as the dusk canopy
tucks in he moon,
its light enters you,
and your smile 
is an evanescent gift to me.



A VAGABONDS'S DREAM


Middle age prowled 
with feculent windows 
and soul-induced drawings of
thirsty landscapes, cloudless spring skies
and succulent cacti. 

Big dreams, once stowed 
in a blithe corner
are now cavorting. 
A mountainside-peace-filled shed, 
a bucolic drop of liberty
ahead of the endmost rays 
flickered goodbye. 

Patience, 
a disintegrated dusty pair 
of deer horns,
hung abandoned on the wall.. 
His voice however; still majestic, 
as the Mississippi; 
home of his forefathers.

If not in this life,
then perhaps in another, he thought;
tough as a snake,
swirling free
toward incandescent skyline.