Summer has furnished trees with leaves. Children enter the park like light entering the eyes of a swan with the moon riding on it's back. An old man's house windows forage for names and faces , his wife passed on, he responds to the summer sun, branch tips strain for the braille manuscript in the clouds above, he will meet his wife in photographs turned inside out. Autumn leaves are like footsteps as they land, a frail man attempts to understand the theft of love as he shares an umbrella with the rain's ghost' Somewhere winter has autumn's mask gripped in it's claws, a tear travelling down a cheek slows it's trajectory in response to the inner cry of history of a clock forever falling, the last few leaves fall, trees whisper the fleeting fragmented call of a woman waiting for her husband as minutes are blown away like leaves. Seasons take off their masks then take photographs of each other from inside photographs, they create a crown from pictures making briefly a dying man king of the park. Pictures blend to accord with his wife's wistful call.
You have to be a registered user to be
able to post comments to poetry.
If you already have an account, log in to post a comment.
Please be patient while we go looking for comments...