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Leslie Philibert
Poems
Jul 2016
High North
As fingers stretch into the lesser known
slate slides into salt,
we are stranded in an half life
of stone that rolls down ice.
Mist forces us apart,
the rain makes us temporal,
the sky is as pale as a bloodless girl
forcing our steps to quicken.
The North tells me,
this is a leaving on a seagull's flight,
steps on an artic bridge,
a change of tides, and at last,
the rain of ending.
About Norway...
Written by
Leslie Philibert
63/M/Germany
(63/M/Germany)
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