Because he pet the wolf
I reach out for the wild
And believe the breeze is never empty,
The maker, never tired.
A rush of nature against my flesh,
Whether dry or mistiness,
Wrinkles me a little more.
Seasons greet me, leave me for
Returning thoughts of lost rapport.
A light rain brings the sun to rest
And colors mix to blurriness.
Temperature shifts in the breeze,
Coating me with memories
Of muddy trails through silver trees.
The colors fade to black.
Weather breathes upon my back
Of past delights and missing parts,
Of lovely smells, in that I lack.
A day dream of my childhood
Moves me as a current would--
To distant places rotting fast--
Makes me wonder what will last.
No comments:
Post a Comment