Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Almost



...there is a disturbance,
someone clapping, the sound
receding like grouse
rising up before a hunter.
It’s the craziness of someone
loved, where the key, the clue
is just out of reach.
And you can’t sleep.
Soon morning will come-
light and clarity
all around you hiding
the echo, the fading trail.

No comments:

Post a Comment

willamette writers

willamette writers

Blog Nation Badge

Poets United