walking, the night -
it's
melancholy,
with sharp bits of it flying around
dead leaves,
weaponized in an Autumn storm,
shredding themselves to tinder-dry shards,
trying to get in your eyes, as you strive
on an otherwise
beautiful night,
for a glimpse of the moon -
that you can't well see, with your eyes
squinched tight.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Anything you have to say - question, critique, interpretation, praise or rebuke - is received with gratitude and interest.
If it looks like spam and contains a link, though, it will not be published. I will cherish it to myself, instead. Thank you!