Beloved Night #5
Who are you
that comes to me
in the middle of the night
and leaves me
with these poems?
You speak so softly,
like a whisper,
I must have
practiced listening
for you
many years.
Or were you always
at this door
knocking gently
while I was busy
ransacking my rooms
looking for you?
Robin Parsons 04/06/01
Beloved Night #6
When I touched you
I did not know I would be
moonlight fishing
at the well of poems.
I kissed you…,
kissed you again…,
and yet again.
You said "one more,"
and I awoke
to find myself
kissing this page.
Robin Parsons 04/06/01
Sun-Grazer
The moment before Icarus
reaches the perihelion of
his journey,
he smiles.
A faint smile of self-assurance:
he is going to meet God.
Of course, we know
what happens next,
though no one steps from reality
into his story to warn
of the dangers of wax wings.
We've seen comets
approach the sun.
We know that sun-grazers
rarely survive their encounters
with that enormous conversion of
hydrogen to helium.
Yet, we also know the desire
to meet grace, lighten the dark,
and a wondering when the moment
our orbit slips from
distant satellite
toward sun-grazing,
what change we might have upon
the face of God.
Robin Parsons
February 22, 2002
Redshift Happens
It is because the wavelength
of red light is so long
that I didn't see you moving away.
In your hair and dress…
the pigment of your skin,
red predominates.
Like a chameleon,
the color of hydrogen atoms
in your obscuring emission nebula
excited by your light photons,
moves toward red.
I perceive more clearly in energetic light;
toward the ultraviolet end of the spectrum
and did not notice the lines
around your mouth
parenthetically.
Please forgive me.
Robin Parsons, January 11, 2002
