Sunday, January 23, 2011

Winter Road

Because the world needs more crappy poetry!

Between lucidity and dreams
Brief snatches of the hidden sun.
White nothing stretches on ahead
Dead orchards stand waiting for spring
What I can hear is a snippet of another life
Their parties, jobs, and worries are sparrows
Lost and huddled in the plunging of singular warmth
Through tusks and beards of the winter forest.