We wait beneath dusk for moon rise – a slow turning toward heavenly eyes
A place to gather words before they get lost.
We wait beneath dusk for moon rise – a slow turning toward heavenly eyes
Their sticky fingers find each other, covered in pine sap and needles
The cold wind's bitten our fingers, wrapped in mittens, but never enough
Despite Autumn's change, one tiny flower endures; act of resistance
Time seems elusive when the hands of the small clock bend themselves backwards
for Algot
Sheets of frozen rain, falling like knives, inflicting pain – we dread the sleet
Last night's storm winds have cleared the trees, blown free the leaves, and still this morning, as the winds take leave, I can hear branches groaning and moaning about the loss of cover, like a blanket, stolen, from a spurned lover
Walk a foggy morn as if you're inside a haze of rain clouds, dancing
A maudlin feeling descends, like a leaf falling from a changing tree
Desolate roadways, frustrated navigation; it's isolation