rejectomorph (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rejectomorph) wrote2005-11-27 06:55 am
rejectomorph) wrote2005-11-27 06:55 am
Deserted
Cold like a door slammed on an empty room. Cold like a torn page blowing along a deserted road. Cold like the thought of abandoned houses. Effing cold! This is going to take some getting used to, if it lasts. Already there are more clouds forming. The thin moon wears a dark halo. I can easily imagine snow. Too soon, too soon!
Sunday Verse
by Mark Strand
That night the moon drifted over the pond,
turning the water to milk, and under
the boughs of the trees, the blue trees,
a young woman walked, and for an instant
the future came to her:
rain falling on her husband's grave, rain falling
on the lawns of her children, her own mouth
filling with cold air, strangers moving into her house,
a man in her room writing a poem, the moon drifting into it,
a woman strolling under its trees, thinking of death,
thinking of him thinking of her, and the wind rising
and taking the moon and leaving the paper dark.
Sunday Verse
The Prediction
by Mark Strand
That night the moon drifted over the pond,
turning the water to milk, and under
the boughs of the trees, the blue trees,
a young woman walked, and for an instant
the future came to her:
rain falling on her husband's grave, rain falling
on the lawns of her children, her own mouth
filling with cold air, strangers moving into her house,
a man in her room writing a poem, the moon drifting into it,
a woman strolling under its trees, thinking of death,
thinking of him thinking of her, and the wind rising
and taking the moon and leaving the paper dark.
no subject
very nice poem. thank you.
no subject
I'm in a slightly effusive mood so I'd just like to thank you for this perfect simile!
no subject
That happens a lot when I'm short on sleep.
no subject