the clattering of bay leaves.
A sharpness in the air.
These are the seeds of memory,
the mountains painted blue,
the hayfields of stored sunlight.
The waning moon sings of despair,
and the wild iris by the side of the road
slumbers toward winter darkness.
The sky shrugs its shoulders,
covered in a shawl of clouds.
The thunder answers
with an empty promise
of late summer rain.
8/9/23
No comments:
Post a Comment