Radiance

Golden Summer Day by Floriana Barbu

This is vulnerability…

the heart, pierced

by every appearance of beauty.

Beauty in woman.

Beauty in man.

Beauty in child.

Beauty in flower.

Beauty in tree.

Beauty in sky.

We consent

to ache,

forever, if we must.

We consent

to ache,

with integrated soul.

We descend

with open,

willing gait

To an underworld

of light

and voice.

And here is passion—

non-possessive,

and here is indifference—

non-possessed.

We do not close our eyes

in a rapture

of submission.

The more we look,

the more we see,

the more we realize.

What fullness,

to meet the other’s gaze

with eyes

captured by fire!

What oneness,

to say…

It is your radiance

that kindles me, love!

"Strings" is Published!

The instant before realization happens is the most uncertain of moments. Thus begins my short story, “Strings,” published in the Spring 2011 edition of Rose and Thorn Journal. Oh, joy!

“Strings” was a labor of love in more ways than I can begin to name. I opened up my imagination and allowed it to fly free. And for a few weeks, I was on a wicked, wild, and heady ride. And I immersed myself in it… literally. And I loved it… completely.

Please read and let me know what you think. Just click here and you’ll be taken there.

I hope you enjoy!

Halo

Photograph by Jared May

One day…

when he no longer recognizes

her seemingly unassuming flesh,

he will remember

its rawness, abundant, pungent,

filled with provocation.

Traces of its ghost…

will lick on his lips

and lashes, surrounding him,

separating her from his life

yet making her its focus.

In another time…

he will dream her sleeping

beside a luminous sky,

her marvelously ripe body

contending with delicate skin.

He will remember…

her rising slowly, deliberately

dancing in flames of light,

her body not burning but flickering,

her long legs bare

beneath a short summer dress,

her absent-minded feet inspecting

the cool and clumpy sand,

the eyes—hers yet not hers—

penetrating the stillness of day.

She will be…

alone with eggshell sands

and cerulean sky at a shore

polluted by summer’s lazy debris,

returning to his heart

and departing from it.

He will be…

alone with delusion,

vulnerable to pretense,

seeing her spirit flounce

like a hex and cling

to every atom of his ailing bones.

He will write the story,

then tumble inside its eyes.

How shimmering love is!

How radiant its lies!