I walk barefoot
And feel the sun’s memory
In kiss of warm concrete.
And then to the cool grass
To which I feel the earth’s body,
Lumpy and imperfect
The gentlest hug.
I perceive personality
The scently gush of roses
Dripping the pollen of their love,
Feeding nocturnal bug and drab
Moth alike, just as butterflies of day’s
Light take their nourishment.
For the dark is full of giving
And the rose seeks no commitment
To all those wishing
To sip the nectar of its life,
Knowing them as equals
In the wholeness
Of the wholesome day and night.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
2 thoughts on “Night After Sunshine”
is certainly my favorite part of this poem, but it is rich from beginning to end in its imagery and figurative language.
Thanks very much, Emma.