Three poems | by Allison Grayhurst

​Shroud The Moon

I see your eyes

float like balloons

through the giant storm.

I cradle your blanket. I cry

on the carpet like a child,

all in privacy, between rooms

& walls. All for the farewell too

real to speak.

The world will not compensate,

will not hold the hope to get out

of this hell for long.

It will empty my pockets of

your key – make every minute

a dangerous bite.

There is a cold bird screaming down

our chimney. There are rats

under the fridge. The rain echoes like

a mountain cry. You will not

love me like I need. You will not & I will not
be brave.


So hard & regal

are the cry of your creations.

A sadness that moves

to be opened:
Stone stuck

movement. Watchers

in the distance

breathing out

your madness.
Old like

love, your roots

have no end. They burrow

with a strength no god

could hinder.
Your hands


to the foreign dancer:
shrewd as passion,


as the sea.


(For Beeper)
Dog-eyes like a morning


with warmth.
I dream of sending you

silhouettes wedged

from the mountain,
where we would go

flooded with lyric & hazy light.

By the campfire furnace,
chasing the breeze through

the haunted wood. And then,

by the river, by daylight,
your tongue outstretched to cup bee.

Your oversized ebony head gliding through

the water like a dolphin’s.
Under the bridge, on the railroad tracks,

your muscles moved erecting

monuments of innocence and incomparable strength.
Past the fence, past

my sight, releasing sounds of excitement, sounds

of a simple, language bark,
as you ran

thunderous & dark

as departure

often is.

Allison Grayhurst is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. Three times nominated for Sundress Publications “Best of the Net” 2015, she has over 1050 poems published in over 425 international journals. She has sixteen published books of poetry, seven collections and nine chapbooks. She lives in Toronto with her family. She is a vegan. She also sculpts, working with clay; 


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