I awoke to Morning Glory Day
glistering upon a dawn
of sunlight and dew—
her flower flushing deep purple
from the sweating of her attar
 
her stain penetrating under my skin
into my blood …
rushing to my head in a swirl of color
that spins my senses
in thrall to sweet euphoria
 
I swooned in the melanin of her magic,
combusting into a comet of desire
burning off its tail of longing,
streaking across a dying winter night
into the first gasp of spring
 
Like mountain snow melting down
into bubbling brooks and streams
rushing headlong over the rocks,
skipping lightly as air,
I awake enchanted
 
So much did I dare
in the desert south of old pain
in the shadows of old saguaros
speaking in tongues memories
clutched fiercely to my heart

“Follow this rose,” they emoted
“Her heart is red with the wine
of your deepest wanting
She’ll touch you in the deeps of being
far beneath the hot shallows of Eros
 
“and take you past the tides
of Luna’s moods
to the mantle of true devotion
enkindled by handmaidens
of heart and spirit”
 
In the burst
of Morning Glory Day
a ruby-blushed love sparkled
like sun-cuddled ocean spray
glistening on the winds of fate
 
A ruby-drenched love
flushing out the dawn
from the sun’s gushing smile
at lifting into the sky
and lighting up the world
 
A ruby-shaded love
fragilely simmering
in the delicate quavering of need
teetering precariously
at the edge of annihilation

A ruby-red love born
in the shine blinding out darkness
at the dancing of What Will Be
in the snuggling of night and day
where dreams brush onto reality
 
Where light draws its texture
from cloud and shadow
where time ropes life into seasons
and winter haunts the fringes of Now
with the ghosts of What Was
 
For dead specters linger
in Morning Glory
inside her haunted furrows
fallowing with hurt
plowed into her innocence
 
Winter’s on the way
Its early sighs chilled with disquiet
crinkling her blooms
and shuddering loose old torments
from their trailing vines
 
that break wildly over
her inner dikes of repression
withering her to a shadow
of what she used to be
or might blossom afresh”

Instead,
the gnashing of her fears
rasps away her trust
in life, in good prevailing
to grit scattered on the wind
 
choking out of her
a raw and naked ultimatum
binding me to which
I couldn’t acquiesce
Her will to stay in love, gone
 
In the high-desert land
one high-desert morn
in the sweet, tender sweet
air of desire
Morning Glory Day goes to seed
 
In the frigid fear of distrust
she sows her germ of propagation
among the weeds of foreboding
born of her mind’s terror
of love gone missing
 
Hibernating in winter’s arrival
she sleeps many lifetimes
of dreams and nightmares
till wakened by the spring kiss
of her own scent

I catch a whiff of her,
my own spring upon me
my eyes itching to see her
after a winter of lost trails
and dead-end turns
 
But my nose … a pointing compass.
I follow the dizzying fragrance
of her floral essence
like metal filings
jumping toward her perfume
 
hoping to catch her up
in surprise;
bring her back to me
back to me
back to me.

––––––––––––––––––––

Excerpt From: Carl Hitchens. "Shades of Light." Carl Hitchens, 2013

Author Audio Reading: https://duende.bandcamp.com/track/hitchins-morning-glory-day

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/shades-of-light/id674512212?mt=11

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