Terry Miller Poet Quintain (Sicilian)

The Roggenwolf

A familiar dawn of dull and sunless sky
the inconstant rattle of unlocked door, which
plays a backbeat to the buzz of dying fly.
A breath of wind blows a high, discordant pitch;
wildly rings a wind bell on a porch nearby.

I should have repaired the door a while ago
before it and I became unhinged, beside
the thing solely clatters when North Easters blow.
It’s so very nearly time to step aside;
let others tend to the house, the garden mow.

And yet, some dawns are born splendid sapphire blue
the backbeat buzz, then a rhythm of devouring
melodies we made together, me and you.
The sweet memories of passion flowering
wildly consummated in one morning’s dew.

A familiar dawn of dull and sunless sky,
the harsh singing of a curlew overhead
a Roggenwolf stealing from a field of rye
and wild wind that whistles past now empty bed;
also rings a wind bell on a porch nearby.

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