Snapshot 19 October 02005

I sleep beneath a shaved,
clouded moon. My dreams
are crowded & evasive. I try
to catch them but they pass
me by like geese, invisible
in morning fog. All the news
forecasts disaster. My book

is filled with blankness. I forget
to wind the clock. The geese
call again. Ducks reply across
the darkly misted river. Dry
leaves whisper down from
pale-limbed birch trees.
The houseplants wither.

Comments

[patry]

How well you describe what so many of us have been feeling. Me, at least. Lonely and beautiful poem.