Sandra Fowler Poems
A Shadow Beautiful
How can I write a shadow beautiful?
It is elusive, haunting as old verse.
The wind transcribes the dusk upon pale leaves.
I touch your hand to prove the mood is real.
A cloud or two portends day's epitaph.
Friend, linger takes us where all lyrics go.
The picture is an echo of itself.
No sound is needed to configure song.
Sun's Last Grace
Your hands smell of wood shavings, sun's last grace.
That tawny essence fills all empty space.
I scarcely hear you talk of southbound birds.
Time has gone far beyond the mood of words.
The magic of the moment turns the landscape round.
That carousel defies all music to be found.
Only the wicked shadows carry us away
Into the insignificance of yesterday.