June 1, 2020
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red stranger
the shape of the wind
is dictated completely by emotion.
when it lifts the hair on the back of my neck
it takes the shape of a pair of hands.
and when a light rain sweeps across the grass,
the wind hangs its head in sorrow and in shame.trees are shaped by the wind;
and the color of the sunset
is determined by the shape of the day,
the tides by the roundness of the moon
while clouds take their form
from the skies in my eyesmoths immolated by a candle
give the flare to its flame.
desires weigh thin in time,
hearts become flattened
by the heaviness of advancing years
and become the shape
of a red stranger in a mist
with torn fragments of composureturning inward to hide
Comments (1)
The word introspective comes to mind reading this. As well as solid.
You never write less.