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3.02.2006 Winter, Turn Home We've walked too far, December-sharp air clicking around us,a blind man's stickseeking an edge; tap, tapa nickel hammer percussinga large frozen bell.The city is sleeping, December;white smoke from our lips,the stacks of brick chimneys,nostrils of brown carriage-horses.These are prayers to be saidin cold, darkened alleys whereshadows creep over snowlike silent black wolvesand yellow-lit windows(square shaped moons)detach from their stone.We've walked far, December,the city is sleeping,we finally turn home. posted by Rachel Phillips on Thursday, March 02, 2006 i followed you in that poem. i was there # posted by keed on 12:48 PM Post a Comment
Winter, Turn Home We've walked too far, December-sharp air clicking around us,a blind man's stickseeking an edge; tap, tapa nickel hammer percussinga large frozen bell.The city is sleeping, December;white smoke from our lips,the stacks of brick chimneys,nostrils of brown carriage-horses.These are prayers to be saidin cold, darkened alleys whereshadows creep over snowlike silent black wolvesand yellow-lit windows(square shaped moons)detach from their stone.We've walked far, December,the city is sleeping,we finally turn home. posted by Rachel Phillips on Thursday, March 02, 2006 i followed you in that poem. i was there # posted by keed on 12:48 PM Post a Comment
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