Sandra Fowler Poems
(1) Before The Music Ends
Words paint a fragile picture of the dusk.
I think them to a poet far away.
The light shines dim upon my windowpane.
A few tears fall like blue rain in the mind.
Our time has been short listed by sunset,
No matter that the weather has its way,
The stresses live within their measurement,
And distance is a gift we give ourselves.
This moment is designed to be as spare
And elegant as winter's old, gnarled trees.
I trust you to translate my whispers, Friend
And send them back before the music ends.
Black house roofs are a mirror to the smoke.
The cloud mood makes a backdropp for good-bye.
You lift me parallel to chimney stacks
And make me dizzy with your old world kiss.
The soot is falling like night colored snow
I feel its weight like stove lids on my eyes.
I know I will make poetry again,
But who will chafe my heart when you are gone?