Some gathering
pilgrims set forth
in pairs, gathering baskets
and woolen clothes like clouds,
departing at the edge
of night, the moon’s high
spirits straighten the road
before them, winding
around their ankles like
a hungry cat. Impractical
brimstone singes
falling apples as they land,
purifying the blushing skins
of summer’s gritty haze.
Harvest time, the farm-stand days
glow like boys in love,
newly bright, buoyant. Once
clumsy, landing heavily on their
youth, this tapered light
now liquifies, they preen
and joust. Love rises unfairly,
comfortable lies settle in
heavy folds where frozen
stars swarm overhead.
Blue sadness maintains
silence among the lost,
their easy brilliance cracking,
snapping loudly under the burden
of too-soon hardened hearts.
(c) 2017, by Hannah Six
Image: UK National Archives (public domain)
No comments:
Post a Comment