I waited to see her movement
and I thought of forest smoke in November mist.
How it is hidden and always disappearing
indicating a suggestion of origin
And a failing hope as to where she might be
tomorrow.
Is there ever really a tomorrow?
The movement of the tide rejects such notion.
There is only now.
Though even that thought is a lie.
For as soon as I pronounce the idea,
the concept evaporates into autumn rain.
Ravens laugh sarcastically from a swampy sky
(though they don’t know why)
Cynicism is infectious.
And even the scarecrow admits he no longer possesses
The ability to frighten
or possesses the desire to intimidate.
“Let the crows have their fill,” he says, with his arms outstretched
“For I no longer care…
and besides,
there is more than enough sorrow
to fill the earth and the sky.
@shoreditchpoet ©️DMM
