After the thousand firework bang salutes
and Chinese lanterns drifting over stars
(those classic UFOs, the fleet from Mars)
there is baleful Mars, red eye of disputes.
Stars are sharp, multitudinous and deep,
and feathery that broad band of Milky Way.
I stand alone and stare, and then not sleep
until the dimmest grey of coming day.
The love I had was there not half so real
(no reference, nor in absentia now)
as one heartbeat of that star-haunted field,
such present, so impersonal a show.
I never thought that I would get so dark;
but as the days draw out, call in my ark.
...
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Winter Trails
PoetryWinter Trails is an album of my poems, journeying through late fall when the wire of the trees begins to dominate, till the end of January. After promoting it and it soaring to three quarter million reads, Wattpad unceremoniously dumped it. Here it...
