Come Naja, come:
from the scented tree
and spread out your hood.
I will pull you down on my lips
One day.
Classical porn, Neanderthal.
In your stark nakedness I wanted an asylum.
A place guiltless, hands blackened, moony face,
Nothing to hide, except the fame
Of a fear.
Can I breathe in a cosmos? with integrity?
The interviews are corrupt, the dales stun,
The peace perverted, destroying the white birds.
O browning sun!
Wait till the moon rises.
The daily war is very raw
You burn your fingers
for purity.
Each person is but a grain of sand resting beside the sea. This thought sets the tone for Jill Eisnaugle’s latest poetry collection, Beside Still Waters.
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