Wednesday, February 1, 2012

I: Penultimate Augury

Grey limbs of trees
stone walls, weaving out
grasses stiff and refusing to sway
clots of birds, drifting around
quaffing a drink,
lingering in assembly,
then moving on
risking it all, venturing out.

Be not blind, watch
those simple beings, their flight
hear their speech, twittering
then screeching, wailing
hitting the winds now,
over the waters and away.

Unfold your polite hands,
rub an eye with a finger
only to break the searing eye contact.

Look to the window again:
the wraith staring back,
does he frighten you?
the ghastly visage,
the thin image,
look beyond and through him -
he is gone.

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