Tomorrow
Late afternoon.
I settle into the last warmth
cradled in a patch of mottled sunlight.
The garden is beginning to darken
and fold away.
Is this all there is ?.
Reflections in the cooling air,
cloudy streaks on a lens
trying to focus meaning,
a pale flickering
of things going out.
No crescendos of birdsong
or the wind booming
in the air above,
nothing but a shallow breath
leaving not even the slightest
ripple on the still
of a late afternoon -
something seeping
into a nowhere
with just enough left over
to spill into tomorrow.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2023
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment