Downpour Eerie, the sound honesty makes: three syllables trickling through lips in a room assumed to be safe & dry. The weatherman said, you stayed for walls only I could afford. A rancher redone, interrupting ruin, where summers invited wounds to walk in fragrant gowns of grace- Sweet Alyssum, Honeysuckle. It takes what it takes to translate the bruise into something aromatic, while watching the sky force the ground to drink the tears of Christ. Eerie, to be a chalice of clouds above the Lake of Fire, a gray goblet filled with relief hands refused to pour.
Daniel Edward Moore lives in Washington on Whidbey Island. His poems are forthcoming in Nebo Literary Journal, Main Street Rag Magazine, Nixes Mate Review, Lullwater Review, Flint Hills Review, El Portal, Emrys Journal, The Meadow, and West Trade Review. He is the author of Boys (Duck Lake Books) and Waxing the Dents (Brick Road Poetry Press)