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.
You Need Not Know
House corners sing a wind song to the blues.
The air randomly flows with shadow trees.
You come to me across the fading fields.
The passion in your tired face lights the dusk.
I want to tell you, though you bring no flower,
That I have all I wanted from the fall,
But you press your hand hard against my mouth.
The moment is too simple for much speech.