View From My Window
A Poem About Fog On the Window
In the fallen evening,
I can think of little else.
The bonfire gone to ashes.
The crickets chortling.
A midnight game of hide-and-go-seek.
So I carefully rearrange my
flowers, now facing east,
and I press my face to the glass,
and fog forms in the middle,
encircling like a mother holding
her child in her arms.
Words, I think now. Words are powerful,
like ashes to ashes.
I laugh,
as I did then,
and it feels good to finally let it go,
as the fog disintegrates on my window.
-(c) July 19, 2000
I can think of little else.
The bonfire gone to ashes.
The crickets chortling.
A midnight game of hide-and-go-seek.
So I carefully rearrange my
flowers, now facing east,
and I press my face to the glass,
and fog forms in the middle,
encircling like a mother holding
her child in her arms.
Words, I think now. Words are powerful,
like ashes to ashes.
I laugh,
as I did then,
and it feels good to finally let it go,
as the fog disintegrates on my window.
-(c) July 19, 2000
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A Poem About Fog On the Window
A Poem About Fog On the Window
