extinguishing with the slow-rising sun: one by one, street lamps fading, turning cold. snow, great hoary spirals, swept cross tattered roofs. frozen folds layering the lofty, languid treeline: rows of imposing black oak and red pine. crueler than can be told. pastry landscape, a powder sugar dusted bun.
what thoughts cross her mind in her copper flat? staring out a second-story window: barren fields, lonely roads, a river’s flow. baring a patina, a well-worn hat: intent to not allow her sheen to show what thoughts cross her mind in her copper flat, staring out a second-story window. ever-evasive, an elusive cat, and all…
i often picture myself, alone in a field swaying in the wind.
i watched the birds dance among the heather, hopping and chirping in the breath of spring. no thoughts had they just then as to whether the frost, nor the chill that winter would bring. no future pain: neither now, or ever, might hope to still the songs that they might sing. their voices: full, warm…
we roamed aside the tow’ring hill nearby a lake, whereby we’d fill our canteens up and to their fill. drink in the chill; drink in the chill. we’d sit along the riverside and watch the water striders glide, entranced, intrigued and mystified. minds wand’ring wide; minds wand’ring wide.
just me, myself and i alone, nose to the stone til nothing’s left. i have my health, this orange cream scone, these aging bones, yet still bereft.
we can sit here together all night, until the first rays of morning light. staring up at stars and satellites, we imagine strange celestial sights: alien, vast, overwhelming and eldritch. understand, they’re staring back in spite.
so long, strange painted lady. your stately manor, now ash, looms etern’lly proud and sure. solid as you were, frail glass.
chalky sky, rorschach trees, songbirds stirring. cruel breeze rustling through slated overgrowth, subdued ‘neath viscous weight. raindrops spurring sediment’ry displacement, bound by oath. a lone squirrel bounds from limb to limb, bending weathered branches silhouetted against the blue hour. sullen, overcast, fending off the heat of blooming hours, incensed. puddles like rippling continents flowing into…
can’t have everything i suppose that’s just the way life keeps us in check