November 2018 – Page 3

hands neatly folded
pinstripe suit and crisp linens
so properly posed
–
early sunday morning-
freshly turned earth
and rough sawn pine

threatening storm clouds-
filling sandbags to ward off
the impending flood
–
a neglected barn-
keeping vigil over
rising waters

a black bitter pill
taken with a glass of bile-
so hard to swallow
–
november morn-
the push is over
now I taste salt.

japanese maples-
bright crimson leaves caught aflame
in the morning sun
–
sudden rain-
sheltering under
an elephant’s ear

low distant thunder-
the smell of fall in the air
as the rain rolls in
–
sleeping cats-
outside the rain
turns to sleet

warm morning sunlight
the dawn breaking in the trees
over frosted vines
–
plumes of breath-
the starlit
ice wine harvest

jewels in the darkness-
a scattering of diamonds
in the shattered glass
–
winter‘s eve-
moonlight dances
on the fallen snow

draped across the yard
a patchwork of autumn leaves
quilted by the wind
–
november air-
bronzed oak leaves
litter the ground

down along the tracks-
in the distance the fog glows
with a passing train
–
a waiting owl-
the train echos
through the hollow

black leather collar
tight around my neck lying
prostrate at your feet
–
cold stone-
village pews
stand empty