Night blooms

A villanelle inspired by the glorious perfume of wistaria that fills the house at the moment.

Glycine

 

The night air’s full of the headiest scent,

From the trailing vines round the arbour seat,

I still see the blooms though the light is spent.

 

Moonlight falls silver where dark clouds are rent,

And the owls are drunk drinking nectar neat,

The night air’s full of the headiest scent.

 

Your eyes said one thing, but not what you meant,

Beneath the vines where in springtime we’d meet,

I still see the blooms though the light is spent.

 

I touched your dark face but you’d not relent,

With heavy heart I admitted defeat,

The night air’s full of the headiest scent.

 

It was I who left with my shoulders bent,

Through the vines the owl swept on wings so fleet,

I still see the blooms, though the light is spent.

 

You took the sun from the sky when you went,

The moon and its silver where soft feathers beat,

But I still have the vines, their heady scent,

I still see the blooms, though the light is spent.

 

 

 

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Who do I hold?

Photo ©BLM Nevada

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What do we see in the night time,

When the stars hide behind the clouds,

And the moon’s a pale memory?

 

Do we talk to shades, to things long dead

And reach for hands no longer there?

What do we see in the night time?

 

Red tempest rages in the sky,

Dying dark with the failing sun,

When the stars hide behind the clouds.

 

Who do I hold when the bed is cold,

For the tide has ebbed you rose for me,

And the moon’s a pale memory.