|
Comment on this
article
December
by David Radavich
Let it be as it is.
Little waves rippling
out toward the shore, reeds
tipping in mild wind,
sun fading slow
as the year's light grows
tired of itself.
Other faces disappear
into their masks somehow
frozen in feelings
that take on colors
of the reaping season
and move mechanically
through days that get
shorter and shorter
speaking in a staccato
language of lungs.
Love goes somehow
gray and interior, curled
to a cool absence
that can’t quite
register any of its ghosts.
Return to:
|