The bird voices are dust;
And dry summer’s death breath
Is murdering flowers‒
A graveyard of colours.

The lizards are dark twigs
That are filmed by the eyes;
And the scanning vultures
Are guarding their heaven.

I seek out the shadows
As I pray for the wind
Or the cloud of the fog.
I long for the moon’s ice.

I leave thoughts in deserts,
Words die in their silence,
For tomorrow’s poems
Will be rainbows at night.


Peter Thabit Jones © 2016

Published in Selected Poems (Bilingual: English/Romanian), 2016