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Moment of Conception
Souls swirl
in moonlit streams
filtered through lace panels
awaiting the moment of their
rebirth.
Rising
and then falling
on breezes created
by bodies entwined, the moment
at hand.
Mourning
I wake
to the pillow
beside me, cold and smooth
as your cheek, the last time I touched
your face.
Return to the front page of this issue:
Amaze Vol.
2, No. 1 Spring & Summer, 2003.
Go to the
Poets & Authors page for the poet's
biographical sketch and email link.
These poems are Copyright © 2003 by Lisa
Trossarello.
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