Glass Fingers
Glass fingers swaying in the night,
ice glistens
upon barren branches,
to the backdrop
of a single streetlight.
Caught in the winter wind,
they seem to wave at me,
and I feel a strange kinship
of loneliness and sorrow.
They’ll be gone tomorrow,
an exodus of diamond droplets,
melting away,
saying “We’re done”,
dripping and dropping and dying,
in the morning sun.
and I will sleep and dream and wait
and once again they’ll come,
when the next night’s winter
has begun.
Copyright © Ian Kilfoil | Year Posted 2011
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