1
A blanch of stain, November,
leaf wrinkles to old skin,
wind trails into smoke,
everywhere a crust of sand.
2
April is of little consequence.
3
What harm can come from nine more months of July?
Let the leaves incubate their leaves another season.
Let songbirds remain steadfast within brush and willow.
| Copyright © 2019 by Michael H. Brownstein Michael H. Brownstein’s volumes of poetry, A Slipknot Into Somewhere Else and How Do We Create Love?, were published by Cholla Needles Press in 2018 & 2019, respectively. |
Many people seem to slide by the world without really seeing it. You, Michael, seem to almost see through it, as if reality were a bit translucent to you.
ReplyDeleteAlas, Roger, I often feel that I slide by myself, though thankful for the moments when I do see, and thrill, and love at it.
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