A low slung sunMore Like This
A low slung sun, the tide of winter
retreating with a colourful regalia
of leaf-shaped sailing ships, blown
by a North wind sweeping low, weeping
into newly bare-branch hands.
over my neighbors fence—
The sad sky blues a one-four-five,
deepening into that summerless groove,
jet-streamed smooth & shaped in streaks—
cirrusly in need of an audience, to applaud
that fall-song dirge of slow-death tones.