Monday, February 25, 2008

Passing Time, by Sharman Gill

Yesterday

we picked bright pumpkins from a

trailing vine of green

and golden maples flicked afternoon

light on your honey head of curls.

Today

we slog through pallid leaves,

you a bundle of fleece and boots,

while naked limbs shiver, entire

trees sway. And you point upward

into only grayness until

I see

A hundred birds pass by.

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