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Image by Matt Artz


the madrigal, volume iv


by laurie koensgen

Your lips need never move, still
I can hear their soft refrain.
A tender mist is falling down
and whispering my name.
Across the crowns of mountains
and surrendered shields of grain,

ventriloquist, I feel your kiss
in vintage drops of rain.

Your eyes need never look at me
but I can feel their stare.
They follow me, like moonlight
and the afterglow of prayer.
I turn toward some lustrous thing
and yearn to find you there.

My alchemist, you manage this
conspiracy of air.

Your arms may never hold me
and yet I know the rush.
Warm wind lights up this skin
your distant fingers cannot brush.
I feel your hands caress me
when the night is close and hushed.

My hypnotist, I can’t resist
illusions of your touch.

Laurie Koensgen is a writer and educator living in Ottawa, Canada. Her poetry has appeared in journals, anthologies and online magazines across North America and in the UK. Laurie is a founding member of the Ruby Tuesday Writing Group. Her latest chapbook, Blue Moon/Orange Begonias, is with Rose Garden Press

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