Epiphany
To sit in fabled comforton my quaint redwood
stained deck in my cozy yard
and see the naked oak
choreographed in a frame
frozen constant ballet leap
flailing its arcing branches
like the expressive arms
of an airborne ballerina
beside the cavalcade of
burnt sienna and bright
copper tint maple leaves
shaking precariously while
struck by brazen gusts,
is to know that it all
came down to this:
the little yard, the neighbor's
beige vinyl privacy fence,
there for my benefit.
It all came down to this:
that it is quiet now
and time is passing like
molasses flowing
in a nascent winter.
pjk
Poetry by Peter J. Kautsky
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Written on 2008-11-03 at 16:47
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