Between owl and sparrow time,
But you couldn't wait.
Nothing moves except us and our shadows
In our hushed and private bubble,
Like we're in a shaker that God could play with
And peer into while the stars fall.
But that was before and gone,
And night-day can take it
When black is fresh and soft;
Out of our heads with our smoky breath,
And just as disappearing.
A memory a street,
A doubt a corner,
And a possibility one of those stuck-fast stars.
Pick one for me, Dell,
There are thousands.
Hi Kevin. Another marvelous piece of writing. well done Regards Dave T.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This has to be one of your best yet Kev. and I have taken it with me in my favourites - I jsut love your first line onwards - 'Between owl and sparow time' a true poetic mind thinks in those sort of descriptions. So well written.10+ + + from Fay.