a leftover murmur.

Sung

into the fields

of Provence,
in a clatter

of noisy scents,
a rough-hewn

tree still shines
dancing murmurs

leftover on its bark

from past summers,
& its branches,

stilled flames
planted firmly

in the winter gray,
hold the land

to the moon
in a noisy clatter

of scents.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

______________

a-leftover-murmur

Photo: Doreen Dee

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s