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Clouds early / clearing late
.
The moon kisses softly
with her pale lips of light—
a muffled ball peaking shyly through.
.
Silvered branches sway,
as the wind guides a few lost raindrops
away from a bright and glorious dawning.
No need for a weather report, though.
.
Heaven allows all stars
only their modicum of time.
firts published in Right Hand Pointing
I have a new poem, “Thrown Out,” in the September/October issue of Muscadine LInes: A Southern Journal. The poem is taken from Windows Toward the World, my current, unfinished manuscript. Read the poem here.
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