NOVEMBER 10, 2016

NOVEMBER 10, 2016


Don’t forget the river:

it takes whatever it can carry,

drops what it can not.


Look up at the crows

who transform

stale bread and roadkill

into charmeuse feathers

and obsidian eyes.


Think of the willows.

Whenever they break,

they grow anew.


Remember the sunset,

the last vivid glow in the west,

yellow light under purple cloud

gilding the last of the leaves

on the east side of the garden.


Don’t forsake the moon

shimmering into sight above the pines.

She’s nearly full tonight.

Let all that she will become

fill you with longing for the dawn.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.