With my wind I have fallen in
With little tufts of grass
Whom stand so brave and tall
Against the snow, so cold.
I have blown across the whitescape
As light shades of brown
As dirt and ice that rip apart
The crisp memory of sun.
So goes the traces of my finger
Deep within the hallow
Sunken to my melting cheek bone
That grips against the snow.
So goes the sweet angel of my memory
Who has left me like a broken fire
That I have no more kindling for
Though I remember every splinter
That has sunken to my soul.
Tag: crisp
Ode to a Lonely Pine (day 1769)
Like my grandfather that came to rest
Rocking slowly in his old pine chair,
You watch the vista with an open air
Shaking loose your frazzled hair.
For in the cold months
You stand tall and proud,
And in the dark days
Your silhouette is my lighthouse home,
And in crisp mornings
Your tips refresh me
Like my eyelids breaking free.
But before I walk up to shake your hand
I wait for you to permit me through,
For your roots stretch long beneath the floor
And touch my home, forever more.
Water (day 1482)
This heart, this heart,
So crisp and clear,
No honesty is left unsaid,
No crevice left unfed.
Hastily moving in torrential exalt
From heavens above
To earth, far below.
And in this journey –
Over cliffs and through ponds,
Your kindness forgets no soul,
No hand left out to dry.
No creature, living nor dead,
Escapes your kind flow,
Effortlessly flowing abundantly
In a perfect example of life.
Symmetry.
And mine toes! They’re freedom!
When dipped in your stead.
No greater feeling alive,
Nor consistently fed
Then your bounty to my bread.