Weathering
By bobbiego
Tue, 28 Sep 2004
- 555 reads
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Weathering
Did you hear the fluttering
as his wings could no longer
lift him above the fracas?
I noticed the forsythia
trimmed with a brush of ice
as if in April
waiting full bloom.
I heard the willow weep,
spring's whispered promises
fading into summer as the edges
of the moon became sharp.
I will not cheapen his pain
by trying to remove it.
He will take this moment hungrily,
his harvest of hurt an exquisite
explosion of consciousness.
The yellow powdering will be seen
again through the network of
brown branches beyond
the intricate disorder of the seasons
Bobbie Kilzer Gogain
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