Tags

, , , , , ,

(The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #84, November 25, 2012)

Aftermath

Still, still, still. . .
Sense fills with memory; the sight,
the dusky, disturbing scent of vintage stains,
drawing flies and like-minded vermin;
still.

Held, held, held. . .
my ears still resound with the disquietude, the woe,
all that rose and fell, the clamor of the load,
a heap of metal that sways from the hook of the winch;
held.

End, end, end. . .
pleading in the air around me, yet there remains
the imprint, however small, tangible beneath the sky
unyielding, always skimmed but for one intractable fleck; no
end.

********************

No “end,” perhaps, but enough. . .

Advertisements