I will use gold leaf,
pulled from a picture frame
around an oil painting
where trees are bent and brooding.
They lean to touch their own roots
on the edge of a quiet stream.
Crags give unseen rays a
reason to glint, their angles placed
by a patient brush
so many generations ago.
Breathless,
our words mean nothing in this space.
There is cruelty and pleasure
in placing a tear before it
forms or falls.
M.Scofield July 30, 2008
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment