Four Poems by Tom del Toro

 

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Eclipse

I had to tell the earth
of us. I chalked our names
into the fallen sky
during a full eclipse,
when no one saw
how deep the etches
of the sun and moon.

We are worn like centuries.
We find ourselves in perfect form
but once this life,
crossing like signal lights
in the waves and waves
of night, drifting
to find each other’s shore.

Suddenly a World

There are the moments in your life
when you cannot know what comes, what has crossed
through fire to find you where you are,
staring up at the unquenched stars
to rest in the deep and quiet pools
of your deep and quiet veins.

Those songs of despair were there
back before you knew the flow of rivers.
So were those poems of love
when you looked into the water
and saw the ripples of her reflection
in the hazel blue of darkness visible.

Suddenly a world
where all the words come soft like falling rain.
You could stay dry under the trees,
but instead, your arms become the branches,
your body the trunk, your legs and toes the roots.
You touch the rain and grow into the seasons.

Falling in that Fallen Snow

For us our lives begin again in snow,
the snowflakes melting on our skin,
the branches of cottonwoods,
like the arms of a wool sweater,
gathering all our whispers.

Inside that warmth, the heat
of us, conversations with the soul.
We could have a life lived over,
fearless, undaunted,
courageous like the moon through the sky.

Let’s pretend and start now, even bolder.
Let’s pretend and hold each other’s hand.
Let’s stay in the fallen snow, shivering in ourselves.
Let’s be that first night
and all the other future nights to come.

Let’s Cross Like Slow Madness

I see how salt desires
the melting kiss like ice.
Naked and secret in its breath,
it dances dark around the light,
moves like magic,
cages nothing,
embraces the eternity of oceans.

The other world isn’t for us.
This world, cloaked in fables,
wrapped in a canvas of sunsets,
this is where we’ll find our shore.
And if we wander, lose ourselves to sea,
let’s cross like slow madness,
beautiful and heavy in its sleep.

Tom del Toro grew up in the son of a oil field worker in the Rocky Mountains. He has published in various literary journals over the last ten years. He lives in Fort Collins, Colorado and works in higher education.

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