Foggy Pools of Gray
Lost in deep of winter woods,
swirls of fog drink me in;
strokes like shadows etched by pine,
snowflakes dust a gelid fringe.
Stoking flame of blushing cheeks
above the embers of ruby lips,
imprisoned behind charcoal streaks
wisps of smoke in steel-hued rings.
The wafting mist of Vicar’s Pond
mirrors aigrette of Northern Star
swaddles a drifting silent loon
like obsidian pupils drift in wet.
Clothed in shimmering pale of night,
tremolo of loon heaves my chest;
bathed by gleam in circular pools,
drowning in liquid ashen eyes.
Copyright © Marsha Smith | Year Posted 2017
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