Monday, September 14, 2015

Ink Soloists





Day deepens; then it disappears
Into the thick of Eon's vest
To join the ranks of yester-years
Its maiden journey laid to rest

Sometimes the bliss of blue and gold
Rolls up the afternoon with stars
Until the only sounds it holds
Are ticking clocks, crickets and cars

The homestead wears a light or three
And is there anything more fine
Than the familiarity
Cradled within its vague outline

Night wakens words that sleep by day
And soloists of ink reply
They ravage worlds black-wrapped and gray
To hang new poems from the sky

© Janet Martin

2 comments:

  1. That photo of the tree in the darkness feels like a poem in itself.

    ReplyDelete

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