After Christmas

Faded flowers
were true
like the silence
of the willow strands
and the path toward
a living tunnel made
by creatures that shriek
in the gloom.

I sank my hands
into soil when
not much was left
of the afternoon
apart from highlights
that came from somewhere
other than the sun.

ROSEHIPS — prints available.

There was pink, blue
and cream enamel waiting
for our craft
of the night sky.

Relief rose off me
into a mist
that clung.


Wind, rain
and I was back inside
at my desk, notes,
lines and images taken
from the time
of the Corn Moon
when I had saved,
and stacked
hope high.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.