A window clutching lines of rain
the bramble of dew glistened thorns
waves of yellow topped stalks
the farmhouse looking sturdy
with sloping roof and distant white walls
a wisp of mist like prelude to Halloween
the mountains cold morning blue,
all folded one after the other
like stacks of clean laundry
straightened by some maternal hand
and behind them all,
the sky.
Tag: mountains
Dusk
old embers flit along the line of clouds,
like fingers strum horizon’s humming haze,
a distant note reverberates, on fire
and striking rain-soaked sky like lit up gasoline.
Grey echoes buzz, the mountains shake
are dancing through the flame
are casting shadows creaking like a closing door:
the hinges on a rusty autumn day
thrown into darkness thick as smoke
the last notes ringing in the night.
Mackenzie Lee 