From the dark stone of slumber,

stumbling out of ancient ruins

where the dogs bark for release,

the finger of a shadow across your eyes,

 

you walk out to the timberline.

With the wavering transience of a reflection in rainwater

you see the candlelight white of a deer’s tail

disappearing into the pine colored light,

unnoticed by dogs with noses to the ground.

 

Taking the hill with an awkward stride,

each frosting breath exhaled for its twin,

you notice the rushing bunching of clouds ahead of the storm

as the dogs, with noses now in the air, turn for home.

 

The almost cruel sting of bitter cold,

the resilience of high thin branches in the churning wind,

the rolling grace of horses painting the hillside brown,

the glazing rain trying to answer the murmuring rhetoric of the stream,

bring to mind questions that will trail you throughout the day –

 

Will unseen bones return as ghosts

Why such longing for vanished things

Must one moment murder the next

What is the purpose of the body’s dazzling dreams?

 

Though unable to discern the answers to these questions

you turn for home where you will write them in your book –

take them as a sign of possibility.

 

 

 dVerse open link night…drop in for a cup of cheer