Skein

this is not winter yet
and those flakes are ash

down wind of some chimney
breaking seasons
into the same red dust or pale powder

if ever a year
sticks on hinges
it’s this one

time for openings at last
unfurl and choose

a skein of geese patterned in
a twilight sky
stuck there

Leave a Comment





thirteen − three =

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.