Lune
visiting the well
my wooden bucket dipping
deep in the moonlight
–
alongside the lake-
the harvest moon
follows me home
visiting the well
my wooden bucket dipping
deep in the moonlight
–
alongside the lake-
the harvest moon
follows me home
splintering sunlight
broad winter shadows reaching
out across the lea
–
fresh snow-
a smattering
of paw prints
bitter grievances
at the holiday table
long past time for peace
–
unrelenting
a winter river
choked with ice
lies in the mirror
not what we truly are but
what we wish to be
–
leafless-
reflections in
the watery sky
pulled taut and snapping
the pole holding fast the flag
standing at half mast
–
icy rain
her cheeks
freshly wet
waiting for the thaw
beneath fallen leaves and snow
a box turtle sleeps
–
frosted windows-
deeply burrowed
under blankets
the year’s longest night
herald the winter solstice
ere the morning comes
–
watching our breath-
the black of night
pierced by stars
a torn cap worn low
collar turned against the wind
shrouded in darkness
–
a squalid doorway-
scant shelter from
the bitter cold
contemplating life
and remembering the dead
this cold winter night
–
the cutting north wind-
heavily laden with
bitter freight
absent sounds of night
muffled by the blanket of
winter’s arrival
–
sudden snow
a southbound flight
interrupted