Updated: Jan 14
It is the last day of fall
and definitely winter.
The silence reveals
the immense shifting,
the vacillating energy
under this copper green drawbridge,
where eddies furrow a flowing dark matter
into strange wrinkles,
dredging up a past December’s star dust.
It’s high tide now,
when a lapping edge touches
the tangled synapses
of dormant buds, stiff on crinkled brambles.
In the muted evening skyline, holiday lights
encircling a lone tree placed on a pier
float and glisten in the eyes
of your otherwise taciturn being
reflecting and rebounding,
out to a horizon, once again
succumbing to the rotation of all things.