Morning brink,
clouds delicate pink
the inside lip
of smooth sky-shell;
but sky's astir:
high gulls blow over,
lone hawk helix scuds and how
rattled trees bow.
A fresh-stirred, ruffling grey
suppressing guffaws
that in highlands ransack and strew.
Bird-flocks twist and loosen;
a crow must struggle
to keep her aim true.
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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...
