Numb fingers unclip the rain fly
In the dull cold of sunrise,
Wave it into the horizon like
A desert flag, sending crystals
Of frost glittering into
The pink and purple sky—
Our mixed breath, condensed
And frozen, some kind of
Small gift to the arid soil,
Some kind of temporary jewelry
Worn briefly by a prickly pear,
And then forgotten.
2 comments:
sounds chilly.
Where was this? Let me guess...
Good poem. I don't have much else to say yet.
I love you, though.
Hrm. So I'm a little upset with you, for writing this amazing poem that I can't seem to find any critique for.
how'd you do that, so easily?
I remember you smirking across the table at me after you posted it. you Smug Bastard...
OK. So seriously, though...what I really love a lot about this poem is the sounds-- a lot of l's and r's, especially in the first few lines. "unclip" "dull cold" "crystals of frost glittering". I love it.
plus the idea of it is pretty beautiful, the jewelry on the prickly pear...
I hope you know, though, that in writing this down, it is not forgotten... :)
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