My view is distorted by lace and flowers
That have begun to wilt and burn
But the lace remains timelessly
Arched upon the bow
That keeps the clouds, so heavily
From my memory
And takes me back to a house I knew
Down Coppers Lane, remains.
I still smell the ancient windowsills
So beautifully exposed cedar wood
Grains like driftwood at the shore.
This pleasure reminds me
How much needed it is
To carry trinkets for the river.
Tag: trinket
Impatient Midnight (day 1851)
A cloud pulled at my ear lobes
And took my tingling nose
To an open pasture –
Exposed and sunken into slumber –
Tip-tapped drearily by menacing trinkets
And coo’ed at softly from a shallow hallow
Where an owl waited for midnight’s feast
With an impatient air.