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inside the winter light
Sunday morning in the city,
icy pavement, icy street,
bare trees white with winter's white
its silence overwhelms
you wrote a poem about paper and skin,
we play rock, paper, scissors
inside this fairy dust;
in orbs of water,
it is always snowing
it covers and hides us
like bubbles we collide
not long ago,
wild geese
left no impressions, no shadows
for the leopards in the snow,
who are we, always coming and
going?
Falling. I remember cherry blossoms falling.
In another life, we picked wild raspberries
by the lake. We danced like young light,
shimmering with leaves.
Editing stage:
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Comments
Esker
Sat, 2011-12-24 01:54
ripe plucked
the crystal drips
their spiral route entwine
beneath the harsh pool
cherry winds pull
the softness
from the wim of tree
enjoyed this poem
reminding me to
let go
and shift in textual
enumeration
memories like
seasons winds
the_fool
Sat, 2011-12-24 04:04
heavy on the imagery but
heavy on the imagery but light on the word choices. even so, painted a very beautiful and white pcture for me. thx.
nullus anxietas,
the_fool