Lapwings count moments
circling dead leaves.
Sky is amber with autumn.
As day fades light is cold & clear.
Your steps sound close at dusk,
moving with bird songs, winging.
I wait your soft voice in the night.
It sparkles with starlight, falling.
After sunset sky is a velvet cloak.
Sounds dominate where darkness reigns:
a rustle of dried grass, the stirring of leaves
with night's cold breeze...
I find you waiting in a field of stars.
With wind-rush'd wings we move together.
Our lives are border'd with flight.
(Copyright 11/21/05)
As an impressionist piece this works brilliantly. I could imagine this as a painting by Monet or even Turner.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I really liked this poem, the images and the way it sounds. Good work!