|
| outfall | |
| in the embrace | |
| of a cold misty sky | |
| draining blood's colors | |
| from leaves with each drip, | |
| light slips relentlessly scraping | |
| the grasp of your eye | |
| in the harsh, forbidding fist of the wind. | |
| cringe in its claws, | |
| warmth ripped from you, | |
| chilled to rag-bareness | |
| beholding indifferent sky -- | |
| its silence, where did the noise, | |
| laughter, joyous roar go; | |
| a season's slap in your face -- | |
| another year's shove | |
| as you frantically rush | |
| to imitate life from old memories. | |
| stand still, feel time grasp you tight, | |
| running its blade down your skin, | |
| before the blind return | |
| of bloodwarm spring rains.... | |
| © Jon Bohrn (1999) | |
|
