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October Carvings
Gray wings
at the edge of a threadbare blue.
A feathering that attenuates
and denatures.
Beneath somber clouds
stone angels watch
green granite deathbeds
crumble
in darkening dens.
October slips
through our eyes leaving no footsteps.
We are unaware of its coming
until we close those eyes tight,
then under squeezed lids
they glint starbright.
Sea-deep into a restless night
we may apprehend
the faces of the bloodless
as they seek
some last verdant masks to cover
their ice-sculptured features.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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