Tuesday, October 9, 2012


a quiver, a shiver
first one, then another
cast away on the floor.
a careless—a thoughtless—
peeling of garments dropped 

from your long, hard limbs—
can't you go slower, make
the moment last?
at my feet the heap grows 
my blister stings

my shoulder aches
as i scrape the rake
across the ineludibility
of change, smell frigid
winter in curling woodsmoke,

squint my eyes against
diminishing days, search
for summer unloosed
in the remnants
of shapeshifting hours.


Leonora said...

Love it!
I've read it again and again, gleaning something more each time.

Cottage Garden said...

This last stanza really chimes with me Mignon. Thank you for this and for your lovely comment to my recent post.


Jayne said...

M- beautiful! Wish you were in my poetry class--everyone would just love this!