still here

tempestuous child January blown

tempestuous child January blown
like a bare thicket on late snow
you are not human you are not me
yet it is I that can name you

shadow sails of goodbye dares
the rest of it to dance day onward
there is a strange celebration
riding stray dogs into bright temples

stair me saline and beyond me
a dove’s tail a transparent shoe
derelict buildings lining up
to join memory funeral parade

leaning all learning into the night
holding on and yet not
it is time to tantalize time’s tide
reverberating wet sand on strings

Poetry by Bob The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2017-01-11 at 16:52

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
January is violent i suppose. Your work is always enjoyable.

Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
I love it! Indeed January has come in stormy all over the world, it seems, as we have been hit with very strong winds here in the tropics as well. It is the I who bears the results of the inanimate January.