Listless
Bird song perks in the mind
as the gray haze drenches the horizon.
It becomes harder and hard to think.
The monochromatic hours pass
from felt gray, slate gray, to black
And repeat.
The furnace hums.
It is the only thing with heart.
Hope of spring does not rise eternal.
It corrodes with the incessant rainfall.
Raw, wet, green,
will the vivid dreams of lilac
ever stir to overwhelm the muffling
need for down.
Plucked feathers poke through
cotton sheeting, injecting
the cracked skin of age with longing.
Longing …
for the heat of sunlight
and the return of lemon yellow.
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