image by Ronald Rivas for unsplash
You play the harp
to the last drops of rain
glissanding down the window pane,
the unfolding night sky,
the rug at your feet
as yellow as sand,
embers glowing in the hearth,
the inscrutable crouched cat,
green stems holding up
red rose standards,
a rumpled cushion of a child
on the sofa.
Each note
holds a moment together
then releases it
so the next sound can form.
Like this post? Subscribe to have new posts sent to you by email the same day they are posted.
Leave a Reply