Tuesday, November 11, 2008

November lovesong.



















November lovesong.


Kenny advised early on not to fall in love
with the dreamers and I scoffed.
He failed to add the asterisks—
but I soon found the dreamers were the ones
with the hearts of gypsies,
the legs of wanderers.

I thought I was a dreamer, too, that a
double shot of romantics on the hunt
for one another would mean a match.
Instead, I discovered the pragmatic inside,
the realist who yearned for what he
shouldn't have. Dark hair attached to an accent
and dressed up with warm eyes and music
made for a fantasy, the one who felt
too true to be good proved instincts right.
So the substitute is offered up tonight
now that she is gone, excused herself
from the lovesight.

I choose to fall in love with dreams.
I had one in my awaketime last week
and in it I dug for sand dollars with my feet
on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico.
I collected seashells, seven plucked from
the millions being stored, saved for
seven-year-olds with buckets. It was 83 degrees
in November. I stole a touch of sunburn
to remember her by.

- D. Moody 11/02/06

3 comments:

fourthirtyam said...

that's painfully beautiful.

Natasha said...

I am speechless... this opened up a box I buried deep down in my heart.

Mel said...

I love it. Thanks for sharing part of your soul.