Eclipse Season
These days, I gaze at the transom
as summer withdraws
and color thrums the farthest edge.
*
A negotiation
between oblivion and song.
This life lashed to light
a window cuts into time.
*
Agony
when the inner-aperture spasms
and the poem murmurs,
half-heard, beneath the blur.
*
In the canal, crickets
loop a dark song—
a barge
to float the mind on.
A dark song being used as a barge for the mind, that's very deep and intriguing. I like it!
Evocative, with stillness.
I have no idea if "thrums" is a real verb. I've never heard it before. If you've made it up, it's brilliant. If not, you've heroically rescued it from oblivion.
But if you have coined this, it would pay more people to do this. Where conventional language isn't up to the task or in some way just doesn't grasp the moment that a poem has as its aim, a new vocabulary needs to enter the scene, and poetry is perfect for that.
Your poetry is nailing it all - imagery, mood, reflection. There's greatness emerging here!