Midwinter
By queen beatle
- 136 reads
At closing time
I leave to lock the gate.
The frost yawns, rises
and echoes my footsteps.
A woodsmoke remnant
wanders down Orchard Street;
the traffic idles
to hear a blackbird call.
Through the thick kitchen clatter
I'd asked you if how we
do one thing is how we
do everything;
hand on latch, I wait
to watch a breath bloom.
The shadows swell around me;
your answer shrinks away.
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Comments
Another beautiful, layered
Another beautiful, layered poem. Another Facebook, X/Twitter and BlueSky Pick of the Day.
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nice cherries
Nice Cherries! I think on my first job with the petrol pump guys at dawn walikng to the garage and that frost still white on the ground chill.
"I leave to lock the gate. The frost yawns, rises 'and echoes my footsteps "hand on latch, I wait to watch a breath bloom"
Pay used for drinking fortified cheap sweet wine in the park. Good days no cares those guys were great friends.
Nolan &
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