Two triquian

Wind

These pages

unravel a knot, blue

storm underneath ink & silver lines.

I tether on metal, waiting for perfect sage

to point me my journey, foot by foot

But all I hear is wind

lion-maned.

Blue Storm, Iceland by Jerome Berbigier

August Sky

colorless

clouds dust my skin opaque 

chattering endlessly until i 

hush them to slide into moonlight arabesques. 

cold snaps last summer blooms as i write

away.  words, they keep me 
from drowning.

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Sunday's mini-challenge - Triquain
Seven line poem with the following syllables: 3 - 6 - 9 - 12 - 9 - 6 - 3

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