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Haunted, ITQ
Tree boughs scope me by window glass,
As the long night without stars pass
The moon out like dead rock— the last
Time dark mornings will be so vast.
Around my boughs, raining's ghost wane,
Falling by frost and Winter drape
On each neck of shaked off leaves' fade—
A gone beauty's heat, spent in pain.
White bough's gloom in the swaying trees
For springtime's parched-for reveries—
On fogged glass, it reflects with me
The old, old, January bleak.
From the window, my breathlessness
For boughs straining in rainy gust.
Copyright ©
Paige Hind
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