Seasons – Page 103

cut from the same cloth
the two of us holding fast
lest it unravel
–
sheep shearing-
lost in thought
or so it seems

robins flying south
I’m left stranded alone with
my desperation
–
evening dew-
california poppies
closed for the night

the arc of the sky-
uncountable stars over
an ocean of sand
–
a blanket of stars-
hand on the tiller
slave to the wind

jealous of our affections
in full view of everyone
the moon steals the sun
–
midday-
the spotlight
stolen

i look at myself
and listen to my own lies
praying that they’re true
–
reflections-
outside my window
a magpie

your small fragile hand
once grasped so tightly in mine
now a hardened fist
–
clear blue sky-
learning to fly
on the way down

moving through the crowd
the air fetid and stinking
rancid in the heat
–
underground-
pushing in
before the close

out of the shadows
and into the light of day
burning in the sun
–
august sun-
wreaths of flowers
wilting by the roadside

the lust for power
buried in the hearts of men
exhumed far too soon
–
hesitation-
the sharp crack
of thin ice

telling my story
words spilling off of my tongue
and into your ears
–
snowfall-
the chasm
of a blank page