Sunday, September 20, 2009
Cycle of Death
Turf, sunken long where the earth sheared off away into the brown creek, clouded pond.
Blackened or molten eaves, peaked roof with lead shingles, smashed and tattered rose window, aloft and sickly, of the fane of the family. A brick pile with grilled and opaque orange window, in three oaks, apart from the climbing vine and dry leaves.
Geography of late sun, kine, and ancient stumps with forked tops: Blood forced out of the earth with heedless footfall.
The music of the later, blossoming transmogrification; Rain saturates the earth of the sides, worms, a gold ring, pointed stones.
The coat of the survivor of civil war, iron, beams of sun, a lofty pylon, dry spring grass on banks and plots.
Palisades, the burnt bark house, the flight of stairs leading up the cliff, the calling for the dog in the brambles.
Pink blooms nodding before dark-speared gate.
Posted by Jonathan at 1:26 AM