Seasons – Page 116

the marquee of dreams
in the theatre of my mind
ripe with false promise
–
summer rain-
the blind
desert sands

forced conversation-
a glance at his empty chair
then awkward silence
–
oddly quiet-
the azure sky
free of birds

angry thunderclouds
lurking on the horizon
heavy with cold rain
–
summer afternoon-
the scent of rain
fills the air

ashes of the past
the land stoic and patient
awaiting rebirth
–
robins gather-
the old gardener
tends to his seedlings

age pierces my side-
gasping as my youth runs out
between my fingers
–
crying crows-
my chest heaving at
mile marker two

you’re my cinnamon
my sugar, salt, my pepper
the spice in my life
–
open windows-
a cool breeze
tousles your hair

trapped by bitter cold
prison bars of leafless trees
holding me steadfast
–
spring snow-
steaming tea
fogs the window

the wind whips and snarls
down across the galleries
with malice at heart
–
whispering pines-
deep in conversation
with the trees

washing off the day
a trail of discarded clothes
strewn out behind her
–
disturbed reverie-
on my journey
an empty snake skin

one final look back
collar turned up against the
horizontal rain
–
spring peepers-
the rain of snare drums
on the forest floor