Poem Category: Miscellaneous

Cemetery
the weight of those things
stopped being said.

Autumn wind
closing Tennyson
on a maple leaf.

Flower show closed
alone in its perfumes
an arc of the moon.

Incense cloud
the priest raises the Cross
shaped by His nails.

The moon
the frost crackles
in a puddle of ice.

Startled
in the garden shed
last winter’s spider.

Autumn sunset
gaining height now
the last sight of wild geese.

Drawing the curtains
to stand in it
my vacation’s first dawn.

Greying bachelor
in the private jokes
of the bar girls.

Dumping waves
the force of the storm
we fled last night.