in morning, early
from your pillow
windows were graphite
grey with close fog
and smells of damp soil
rotting fungus and grasses
threaded through openings
in the tattered screens
and under the sky
tractors were threshing
machinery tearing
noise beats a wooded slope
blackbird's trickled call: a stream
like pebbles slipped from folded hands
humid summer's breath unfolds you
the sun defers to leaves
©2013-14 Ravenna Taylor
Ravenna, these last two poems are so elegiac. Spending a time in the country of sadness, loss and transcience always seems to be followed by going through the door that opens out onto life's beauty.
ReplyDeletethank you Elizabeth, for your reading and your comment. Much appreciated.
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