Taking It Slow
It might as well be another late afternoon
when new moon rises, bathed in honeydew
and gleaming with soft weariness: above,
mantled clouds bleach the lanes with first tinges
of blue-gray light, while figure sways pouring tea
and mint cheese on park benches, whistling
strains of linear intervals…intervals where violin
tones tap the breeze for some hint of mellow
hush. This sense of accepting what weighs
or buoys the tracks of soothing energy
pushes feet to circle among tumbleweeds,
ready to sink into hours of a genial night:
Like so, throats wheeze the vowels of tender
tunes brushing refrains of charity for some
sprig of warm comfort: after all, how can
a bursting sun account for the speed of fingers
clutching nicks of time mortal in workrooms,
racing barbed rails of hours hours lashed by
the 9 to 6 office grind… and to drop, drift,
dry off the weary body crackling stiff bones …
it’s about time for half-closed eyes to rest
from a dazed world demanding submission;
That is why heaven fashioned nightfall misty.
.............................
Piece De Resistance Contest
Written 5/14/2018 Re-entered 7/18/2018
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2018
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