Sunday, May 25

Mourning Light

The day puddles at my feet,
a soft robe sliding down my skin
as the last rays of sun
drop to the floor

the lawn is littered with the delicate feathers
and down of a dove,
pink and gray confetti
scattered after a predator’s parade

from the shelter of a walnut tree
a single voice chants low
its mourning song
the peony bows its head

crying creamy petals of sorrow
on an emerald carpet
where only moments ago
two rabbits played chase, unaware

I cradle myself, knees to chest
in the tattered chair,
the caramel-colored shawl
drawn around my bare shoulders

here I’ll sit
at the sentinel’s post,
gazing out as the shapes of Creation
fold into each other
to be rekindled
at morning's first light

1 comment:

Texas2Tennessee said...

I was tempted to title this poem, "Unplugged" but thought better of it.