bradford graham west

a winter night’s rain falls; drizzles.

found finally

after a long crippling disappearing act,

ink appears and draws up these words;

the cold drifts through the piles of facts

while an old, dusty empty room chills the feet.

seeking in theses are hollow, reflective, blinding thoughts,

desperately shoving them full with memories engraved.

the last match strikes the box

and left a candle flame flickering.

small patches of ice floats down a blackened river

and there, justifying everything that was and all that is;

the darkened indigo swims and still leaves me in a silent creek bed ripple .

a familiar echo crosses the street

and invades every dream.

shadows raise a brow

and tips its hat to the last shone moonbeam.

a winter night’s rain falls; drizzles.

found finally

after a long crippling disappearing act,

ink glides and draws up these words…

 

c. 2015  bgw

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