"Two wrongs may not make a right but a thousand wrongs make a writer.”

Sunday, January 7, 2018

Under Our Feet

The furnace groans under our feet
and candle flames dance on a draft
as lights fastened to garland strung around the porch
swing in the wind, moving slow.

We're moving slow,
finding a foothold where once
one was,
shifting under our feet,
like sand at the beach,
shifting under our feet,
moving slow.

Dawn's first light streaks above the barn down the road,
the shed and the granary take shape down the road,
close but further than once they stood.
The ghost of a swing sways from a tree
no longer there.
The faithful dawn cares not for a changing landscape
nor human inability to let go.

4 comments:

Anthony Duce said...

Enjoyed,
Within the grasp of winter..

Yvonne Osborne said...

Thanks Tony. The grasp of January has been tight.

Melissa said...

I love the imagery, but even more than that, the emotions this evokes. A changing landscape and the ghosts of buildings and trees on the East horizon that once was... we have trouble letting go but the world moves on, coldly and quickly it seems.

Yvonne Osborne said...

Melissa, thank you!!!