by Fabrice Poussin    Door AjarLosing direction I sighed again
made of what he imagined in a late night
little me at dawn in the river of torrential
passions cooled to the icy granite rock.I plunged again Olympian without laurels
hoping for a sweet sea of my own nectar
to part for eternity and find a way back to
Sappho my dearest sister far away on her isle.I saw cliffs racing to their own demise
as I made my way through crimson gashes
cuts I had once heard rumored in his eyes
imagining my freedom at the bottom of the abyss.I knew I would once reach the eternal void
swimming a crawl to ecstasy as in a prayer
like the old man by the sea and make it to
where again I will find the self I am to be.
  Final JourneySwimming the traitorous river
I made my way back to the frosty peaks
on the eternal snows of Mt Blanc
I found the throne you built for me.There you planted a tree of crystal orbs
so many prisms birthers to worlds of light
and a simple choice to make
to complete the journeys to your sphere.Blinded in this darkened quest
I climbed to the highest limb
for only one of the fruit I should taste
lest it was death to be the reward.You marked the way with a gentle scent
a replica of heaven you created
thus there on the top of the mountain
fireworks would brighten the cosmos again.  
Home at lastIn a three-story home
you settled on the top floor
walls of marble and smooth stone
on a beach of flowers and sand.No windows from this new world
looking within a single land
now conversing with companions
not addressed in decades.A family once again
for a while longer perhaps
united by a new earth
soft with a bed of pansies.There I stand as you sleep
waiting for the rain to share
a moment of solace
and hug eternity in your presence.  
ImageWrapped in the linen of many an age
she stands by the island in a world of sweet aromas
mesmerized by the floating words of those nearby
her eyes shine forth with the warmth of a deep soul.Her creation too remains still so close to her being
the gaze meeting with hers at a common aim
they might touch hand, if they did not melt in spirit
together as once they were in the twinkle of an eye.The soft features folded in the frame of a girlish pony tail
the breast heaves that of a woman in full harmony
still, he watches her drawn by an unseen energy
her aura in a glow made of powers unfathomed.He sees, she feels, here near the island and then the hearth
she knows, he wishes as the talk goes to another tome
what will be next, as she walks to a life owed
it must be so, she with her, tight and no place for a stranger.  
 Last SealThere is a velvety place with the sweetness of nectar
a valley made for the gods where none is welcome
remembering of births, forecasting wondrous climes
a bed of young leaves of grass and budding blossoms.Safe haven, no less than heaven in every season
to rest one’s intimate dreams upon the restful pillow
Into an impossible death from the gentle roots of a mother.Exploring the deep discovery between those mounds
parting the green curtains softly to the next realm
as a dew settles from the sweet breath of a giant
there is no more a need to rise but to surrender.The kiss of life is shared by much more than crimson lips
as the hollow closes onto this prison of one penitent
not to be encountered again outside of these marble walls
the future is sealed in union of vale and conquered intruder.   About the Author:Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, Adelaide and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications.