Category: Creative Writing

This fragile foliage, fulgent in hue,
Glowing a sun-burnt orange,
Lies dead and departed among
The ashes of my cigarette.

This dried husk harks the dusk
That drives beasts, large and least,
To constellate, earth-bound,
In hibernacula
Bound in earth, underground.

This deep dusk, darkening, harkens
a blue gloaming on sun-spun earth,
Wherein welkin-borne cat’s paws
Swipe and scratch like tigers’ claws.

Tiny song birds impregnate the black sky;
Numbering more than the white points of light,
Dancing in the frozen vespertine air,
They fly carelessly through the windy night,
Talking to one another in bird-song.
Their song, such fragrant music, purple-dyed
by the darkness, carries away my cares,
Mem’ries of days failed and forever gone
might have filled my bloated heart, but no more.
I transmute day to day to day to day,
As do the birds, but not their timeless song.
It won’t change, the same it will ever stay.