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tom-spencerPoems
meditation retreat - breaking silence to talk to a deaf dog chasing dragonflies- the little boy stops to check his empty hand loosening the rusted gate in the grackle's throat - rare winter sun a passing bus fills my window with its emptiness pear blossoms scattered on the pavement - white petals drifting on an oily stream london sunday morning, empty streets - the clicking of unseen heels against damp pavement blind man old blind man on the street - a pretty little girl tosses you a glance only the wind only the wind flows through this dry creek bed- it was your glance that set me adrift westcave echoing against the walls of the cave - the silence of our embrace one by one these words fall - paper stars burning in the fire of your arms cow creek silhouette of pine against the moonlit sky - from this motionless cloud the voice of an owl winter sun stretching out to fill a sliver of sun as it arcs across the floor the cat watches me through narrowing eyes. cold front clouds cold front clouds blown taut across the sky - blue grey skin stretched thin over the exposed ribs of the season empty branches black with rain - but the stream is filled with gold Tom Spencer © 2018
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Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 6:07 AM UTC
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meditation retreat - breaking silence to talk to a deaf dog chasing dragonflies- the little boy stops to check his empty hand loosening the rusted gate in the grackle's throat - rare winter sun a passing bus fills my window with its emptiness pear blossoms scattered on the pavement - white petals drifting on an oily stream london sunday morning, empty streets - the clicking of unseen heels against damp pavement blind man old blind man on the street - a pretty little girl tosses you a glance only the wind only the wind flows through this dry creek bed- it was your glance that set me adrift westcave echoing against the walls of the cave - the silence of our embrace one by one these words fall - paper stars burning in the fire of your arms cow creek silhouette of pine against the moonlit sky - from this motionless cloud the voice of an owl winter sun stretching out to fill a sliver of sun as it arcs across the floor the cat watches me through narrowing eyes. cold front clouds cold front clouds blown taut across the sky - blue grey skin stretched thin over the exposed ribs of the season empty branches black with rain - but the stream is filled with gold Tom Spencer © 2018
tom-spencer
Written by
tom-spencer
Austin, TX
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 6:07 AM UTC
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