Sunday, 6 November 2011

November 6, 2011

Autumnal chill
breath brittle on my tongue
misting out over 
glasslike still

The lagoon before me

Tread forward
leaves crackling loud as
shards of old china
dusted with frost

At water's edge

I look down
Searching murky depths
for my oldest teacher
met with nothing

The truth

Distant trumpets
sound from heaven
a manic cry
geese heading south


  1. I like! What inspired this? The truth is nothing?

  2. Just feeling the season, hahah