Dispatch #38
Winter Solstice
Winter Solstice
White sun quartered
by pine limbs.
The wind stings.
Gravestones loose long
shadows over the path.
I walk in the margins;
I read the names.
To go on talking to myself
for warmth and company
while gulls chant
the blank sky full—
and the line breaks
behind a bruised horizon.
Wow, this is stunning. I keep reading and re-reading.
Just beautiful. Thank you.