vaults veneer
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whate'er the sun
hunts up the sky
is meant, as lace
to grace the eye
in dazzled dreams
that dance a-sea
and weep that fills
the rills and leas
for what light paints
in day's dear death
can gift one’s gaze
yet steal the breath
as eve’s dark bloom
thus burgeons, ours -
sweet butt’ry moons
… and silvered stars.
( for the “No 1256 New Poem Only” Poetry Contest, Brian strand, Judge/Sponsor )
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2023
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