by Gideon Burton
Against the leather atmosphere I press
A wrinkled face. Expiring daylight scrapes
The hours jaggedly into the west
Where grizzled clouds are hung like dirty drapes
In limp abandonment. Uneasy birds
Still rummage through the odd remainders of
The songs they have forgotten. Healing words
Grow thick and sour, fail to crest above
The briny fog engulfing waxy ears.
And who will watch the yellow-needled pines?
And who forgive the graying flowers' fears?
The sunset spills the earth with bloody winds.
I watch the sinking, ready for a sleep
As thorough as these seasons and as deep.
Photo: flickr - manfred-hartmann
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