image from googlepics.com
Twilight leans against the horizon, indigo smoke curling low through the grass. I kneel beside the compass stone~ its chill steady, its edges rough with time. The wind offers nothing steady tonight; it rustles past, unsure of itself I listen anyway, tracing the carved lines, trying to feel which direction breathes. When I stand, the dusk shifts a little. A faint silver thread glimmers far off, and I turn toward it, quietly certain that every road begins with breath.
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.
