rosary guitar

sweeping up the purse-strings
walking on morning dove song
she writes on weathered vellum

irises ringed by rosary song
fragile hands play crushed velvet guitar
calendar echoes through mad streets

on waking, she sees the shadow guitar
practices hermetic arpeggios
sweeping up the tender strings

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The image to the right is a portait of the poet as a young man (even though this poem was written this morning). This serves as a "stamp" which will guide you to a postcard version of today's poem.

Reason to check it out? It features a photograph of a claddagh. You may recall that many of my overtly religious poems have referred to a heart with a crown (or diadem). This is the image I had in mind.