Meeting At The Pond In Winter Poem by Val Morehouse
Meeting At The Pond In Winter
My voice moves with your name.
A sweep of wings over high ground
lips chord icy echoes the way
grey geese beat out their calling.
Below, dry weeds string that melody of greeting,
and in one long heroic theme you cross
the threshold of cypress to the mirror’s edge,
where I wait in dark harmony.
Then we turn, facing the wind in unison,
skaters’ blades chiming on the pond’s thin gong.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/17/2024 10:52:42 AM # 1.0.0.1119
