It’s the same mustard day
freckled with gasoline and din,
in shower a body broken
by wisps of steam.

Full of dark circles,
a coffee mug
sits by the sill,
wide open, expectant.

Light mows across the sky –
a mirror of colors,
iron birds with cloudy tails
point the way home.

There is a song thin as rain
over worried mountains
trapped in a latitude
of divided Gods.

Notice the onset of winter,
nervous turning of leaves,
how quickly the night falls,
consumes like love.


4 thoughts on “onset

      1. I wouldn’t take anything away. I noticed something about this and another of your recent poems–there is the one stanza that seems different, kind of slant (in this case, the coffee mug one; in the other poem it was the shower stanza), but makes the poem in the way it grounds and focuses the reader’s attention on something surprising and very visual.

        p.s. Your wonderful word choices–“expectant” and “love” are hopeful counterweights to “worried” and “trapped” and “nervous.”

      2. This is very helpful. Yes i get images that don’t connect very well. Yet i experiment, sometimes it works by giving a little offset to the piece. But if someone like you gives a positive feedback, i am sure that it is working. So thanks again, dear

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