Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Valentine Martyr

When you left, showers arrived in a hot mist
Which bound my grief in threads of silk.
The wind buffeted me, I was too dizzy to stand.
My cocoon, sticky and new, clung blindly to a branch
Until a harsher rain washed me clean away.

All that remains are my shoes running after you.


  1. Oh, that's *good*, Carol! Just wonderful.

  2. Thanks so much! I find writing poetry really stretches my ability to focus and whittle, focus and whittle.
    And I enjoy painting pictures with open-ended interpretations. (g)