The Wild Side in Me
I’m as moonstruck as a paper dog howling at a paper moon.
The night is kept ajar for all the rampant fairy tales
that will trick me out of the land of the living.
But it is neither goblins nor wicked spells that
liberate the mazed woods. I wake in the black
undergrowth locked by fright that the stage is set.
My frozen limbs are struck by the achromatic sight.
Whom do I call for? Who lies beside me in bed?
If I think of the moods of the sea, affluent and amok
I am no longer high and dry stranded by injury
but as firm as a rock in the watery night.
Three birthday candles drip bright wax upon my fingers.
one for the ocean one for the mountain and one for me.