Arms draped like waterfalls,
gray charcoal waterfalls
ending with foam fingers
splashing calmly down ribbed landscape
as far as the water will reach.
It’s current:
fast and unexpected,
sending misty wisps of wind,
scent, skyward towards
graying thoughtful clouds.
Wind whispers lost phrases
into cavernous ears,
caverns like ears capturing
everything and nothing,
trapping it methodically in time and space.
It’s tactile:
heavy and warm,
sunny, soft scented breeze
caressing nothing more
than a day’s last moments before release.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Poem-A-Day: Day 99
Chasing Waterfalls (Despite TLC’s Advice)
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I noticed that you use "it's" a lot in your poetry, especially at the beginning of lines. Perhaps it is your signature.
ReplyDeleteIt's hard to avoid.
ReplyDelete