Thursday, April 3, 2014


The way the steeple juts
from the church top
like somebody’s zealous

The way the woodstove creaks
in expansion as the fire builds inside;
the way it readies itself for stoking
and the lingering afterglow.

The way the wind presses
its finger to the lips of a dandelion bloom
just before hushing it into gentle spasms
of letting everything go.

Stoneboat Literary Journal - Spring 2014

No comments:

Post a Comment