PLUCK THE MOON

PLUCK THE MOON

Ricardo Antonio Garcia

Smooth, as glass

is your skin against mine, and

your patina old world eyes

saturate my Soul.

Village farmers round the grapes

adoring your feet

as they would a goddess, for

to be Gypsy in heart

your wings flutter soundly winded

over these dream fields

and waxen our love amidst.

Lips of reddened oak

burnish the summer within this

confusing words

with the poetic sublime of tears

becoming this abyss.

Godly found

I am in these imaginings.

Pressured by the wine

the thunderous skies light

rooftops and windows.

Shall these sonic tendencies, float?

Shall my body redeem?

Has ignorance made love supreme?

Smooth, as this lesson

I will abrade the indigo with a moon

and call this grape field

our sudden marriage vow, whose carriage

shall be filled with words.

With the tips of my fingers

I will pluck the moon from the starry sky.