December 2018 – Page 2

sitting on the stoop
waiting on a taxi cab-
a soft rain moves in
–
heavy clouds-
dogwood petals
in the grass

crimson veins of ink
bleed into the blotter from
my old fountain pen
–
guttering flames-
reams of paper
absorb my words

you said you loved me-
but some wounds only show up
once the bruises fade
–
Bruised clouds-
reflections in
the rain barrel

deep in the pine boughs-
a cardinal dusted with
the season’s first snow
–
winter solstice
the last leaf falls
on fresh snow

driving past the farm
hummocks of mulch lie steaming
in the morning sun
–
leafless trees-
mist rises above
the duck pond

long after midnight-
my eyes lose their focus as
I write in my sleep
–
well past curfew-
tires on the
gravel drive

freshly cut flowers
in what used to be your urn
on my mantle piece
–
empty boxes-
the dog sleeps
on your side

winter is coming-
it seems only yesterday
the trees were in bloom
–
the forest-
awake under a
blanket of snow

with the rising sun
the smell of coffee clears the
cobwebs from my mind
–
smoldering campfire-
I blow on the
overnight coals

winter in the air-
unmown fields of autumn grass
yellowed by the sun
–
looking up-
snowflakes on
your lashes