The Rummage
it is a day that never begins
from the window dead leaves die
die again fall away
a cold wind breaks against a stone wall broken
vultures hunched on old silos stare coldly
an old man on the road stares back
there is no why
seeing the dark masses of rising starling falling loudly are they
what passes for sky
a woman's voice calls to no one
the attic stairs are darkly worn
a dim light creates more shadows than light
the woman's voice calls again
bothered her words are buried deeper
then again
jppestana
The Rummage
12...8..2020
No comments:
Post a Comment