Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2022
You are the passing shadow in the lavender,
the new wet leaf on the budded branch.

You sweep the year away again,
the morning ploughed blue to yellow.

Low tide grips and goes,
a seethe of chilled salt and muddy mist.

What remains is a breeze:
your cotton sleeve sun-speckled.

I send you this verse
as a mourning dove lifts

its black penny eye
under strings of evening,

& sings a falling song
cheek to cheek with the glass.
Evan Stephens
Written by
Evan Stephens  43/M/DC
(43/M/DC)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems