Old shoes know all about ghosts

Old shoes know all about ghosts
the way the wearing down of a boundary
(a sole for instance)
can allow one to feel what’s on the other side.
Old shoes carry
premonitions in their toes
they carry hauntings in their heels
and there is always the music
otherworldly and faint
of the dances engaged in
by those shoes
before all the dancing was done. — Annette Marie Smith

She embodies the night in full bloom

She embodies the night
in full bloom.
Her forest
a wild bouquet
of twisted branches
in the middle of which
is the pale blossom of the moon.
She wears slippers made of moss
to whisper step
through deer-run dreams
that maze the minds of men
beneath a larger sky.
Picture her with four legs
and a tail ablaze with stars.
Nyx is a fox made of shadows
and the dark course of the waters
of every sleeping heart. — Annette Marie Smith

October 23, 2016

The smell of wood-smoke walks along beside me
as the leaves sing their rustle beneath my feet
and the leaves still on the trees
look like the most exotic birds and fruits —
sun conures, cock of the rocks, pomegranates, and satinash.
What sense is not engaged by autumn?
I can even taste it on the wind. It tastes of you,
a mixture of richly hued pleasure delineated with regret. — Annette Marie Smith


Ross Van Gough; Oil, 2011, Painting, Autumn Under Water

Autumn leaves float on the surface of the water, caught mid-twirl
a kaleidoscopic unfurling
a breeze-tossed, water-kissed tease.
You know how when the sun shines through a dress
and makes it translucent
how you can see
every previously hidden curve
highlighted shimmeringly?
Well that is what you do to me.
You are the sun and I am the water
wearing a dress of leaves. — Annette Marie Smith

She Said

Bring me moonlight
in the cup of your hands.
I will breathe
on the mirror of its surface
wavelet its milky depths
with my breath
lap each pearl of moon bead
from your fingers,
from your palm.
Bring me night’s breath
to stir my curtains.
Bring me stirrings
from the deepest woods
to wear around my neck
like necklaces sinuously
snaking as they sparkle
between my breasts.
Bring me a crown of stars
captured from the deer-licked lawn
a fitting diadem
to wear until the dawn. — Annette Marie Smith