23 January 2012 by neil reid
late autumn phrase
what language a winter tree bereft
of leaves save some scattered folk?
is it a curtain furrowed clean to reveal
seeds? or breath amidst bleating oars?
a chance for splayed phrases to
gather round a swaying sketch.
birds grey on a wire high like some
sentence gone silent in
flightless hieroglyph.
yet when my sight departs
what thought remains of early
morning frosted breath?
bare, but for some few whited
wings.
neil reid © january 2012
carolee sherwood deb scott jill crammond-wickham
Sarah Regnier's fine polaroid images like poems from home!
we write poems margo roby, wordgathering swimming with poets elizabeth crawford brenda warren irene, lost in translation
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Wonderful comparison. Really enjoyed this.