Shedding's
Before dawn, I press my palm
on the windowpane,
leaning gently into the night
feeling it slipping through
cold fingertips.
Later
when sipping coffee I glance out,
there are shedding's now,
fragments and scraps,
a littering of a flimsy
day breaking light.
I wonder how so great a thing
as the deeply fathomed dark
could be lost in its leavings?
My hand wants to say
something more of this
but its bones are sleeping
and cannot now be reused.
Post Comments
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.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
