Time Stands, Still Waiting
Upside-down brooms bristling
pearly condensation.
They sweep up heavy silence
into the wind
whooshing delicate strands
and seeping slowly
into my bones, expanding
with ice
they crack like cemented
earth.
Green specialized needles
hold no fluttering
of wing, chattering of
squirrels.
The only living chatter is
my teeth.
Time stands, still waiting
for a glint
of sun to wake up splattered
mud.
No comments:
Post a Comment