WINTERREISE



In small hours
soft, thick flakes
of snow
drift down
in flurries
trysting on
apple-crisp
air, and trees
aspire
to the blind
south celestial pole,
the revolving signs
shielded by thick
streetlight-gilt cloud.
Alone and so
muffled quiet
I can hear
my thundering
heart catch itself
on the borderlands

of being.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

THINKING ABOUT LUKE WILLIS THOMPSON

WHY PETER GILDERDALE CAN GET STUFFED

BOHEMIA'S FURTHEST SHORE: CZECH INFLUENCES ON NEW ZEALAND CULTURE