Absinthe

I know that it doesn't look
Like much--
The cold and angry wind
Goes by howling across my skin
Like this and I
Feel whole again.
I can reach out my hands
Close my eyes
And the shadows wisp
Over me
Almost like the willows
Of a quiet cemetery.
All I want
In the moment passing--
But the wind is flying
Leaving me
Far behind on solid ground.
Wingless shoulder blades
Sharpened by
The absence of myself
In the garden--
The little snake
Is now just the molt
In the dying evening light.

Reviews

[Vol]

Anna,
Oh, my gosh!
Sometimes just reading words like this does not even require meaning. The sound and flow is as smooth and satisfying as water splashing over rocks.
But the meaning is there, and a beautiful extension of Robert Frost's "Wind and the Window Flower," one of my favorites!
Vol