Ghosts and Eyes of Fire

Ron Koppelberger

Ghosts and Eyes of Fire

She dances on the edge of a frayed twilight horizon, by the gentle sway of a milkweed drama and a dandelion in saffron bloom. The intoxicating wine of an innate possession by her side, in her eyes and flowing around her in waves of silhouetted shadow. She pauses in her dance and breaths through the mists of a myriad dream, what of the spirits in sashay, by evanescent coquette and divine rapture, what of the ghosts in tender embrace with the innocence of a ravens wing and eyes aflame by the passion of a distant satisfaction. She dances in amber spears of night tide advance, with the souls of a lonesome bond and a silent fate. In arrays of scarlet and cotton weave, by the whisper of a warm wind and the turn of a rhapsody in velvet cocoons, embraced by the dream, touched by the phantasms of a nightingale in ebony shades of moon song. She wills the wont of a myriad waiting flirt, for a kiss and the breath of life, love and sustenance, for starving darkness and candent fields aflame. She spins by the wont of magic assurance and the need for loves in clouds of ethereal smoke. Ghosts by the wayward glance of a tattered dancer, ghosts in flittering half-light rapture and in pirouette, by ballerinas and sleepy fools in desire, by the ghosts of err and the lore of a vagabond dreamer.