Tuesday, November 13, 2018

The Picture of November's Twilight


 Because nothing slips out of the reach of a poem...
This one is for my sister. 
She called before supper and wondered if the evening captured my attention too
and did I write a poem?
 Dear, sweet sister, often calls if only to ask 'What did you write today?'

I answered her kindred-spirit question tonight with "yes, I stood there soaking it in for a minute and even dared to wish for a moment of Quiet To Write, but then was immediately convicted with 'careful what you wish for' and that no, there is no poem, 
but there is extra guests for supper and Grandson etc. 
and we chatted a bit about why the colorless colours were so captivating tonight
then each returned to our own supper-chores etc.
The sky has been shedding its softness ever since she called...
(this photo was taken the other 'less-lively' evening😉)

The moment passed.
The air, like smoky flannel fell, 
then blue
Then black
And snuffed the images 
of dying day from view
But could not steal 
from wonder’s reel
God’s tender work of art
The picture of 
November’s twilight
Wrapped around the heart

…and so is life.
Its moments rife with heaven’s 
emptied jars
And such
Where touch is quick to cool
 but not its aftermath of stars
That brush the air 
and places where
Only Thought’s Owner sees
The frame filled with 
soft shimmers
Of love’s precious memories

© Janet Martin

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