“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label blades. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blades. Show all posts
Saturday, May 4, 2019
Respiration; Exhale
Late afternoon, predusk
Crystal beads balance in between blades
And I wonder how the dew does
Survive the day,
Like me.
All the change and energy
exhausted.
Exhaled more than I took in.
Eyelids spread wide
I steal the last flakes of golden sun
And hold my breath
Because it's all I know I can do
and besides
(myself)
my heart is simply too heavy
To lift this evening.
Painting by Henri-Edmond Cross, 'The farm, evening' c. 1893 [Public domain].
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