Mid-day, mid-week sun gleams in a cold breeze
and through my modest garden chirpy song -
two coal-tits sparring in my apple trees,
wings pulsing to deep-shadowed worlds long gone.
Bubbles soft blown of strange fate trapping me,
twisted in the thread of other’s sorrow;
within the sad delusion of its mystery,
narrowed neck catching at my tomorrow.
I can’t pretend that love within me dies;
yet perspectives have changed - it’s here I am -
nor ever rid myself of all old sighs;
yet you are like a late dream I wake from.
The blues and greys have less to say today:
they slide ungrazed upon their witnessed way.
YOU ARE READING
Winter Trails
PoetryWinter Trails is an album of my poems, journeying through late fall when the wire of the trees begins to dominate, till the end of January. After promoting it and it soaring to three quarter million reads, Wattpad unceremoniously dumped it. Here it...
