Time Cut Short

Eternity cannot be known

the way life wants to know it, the way

wind with its eight voices speaks ghost, holy

and otherwise, as it blows through the Crow’s eye

in search of an abandoned farmhouse.

Eternity settles as dust in rooms

where wind lives, a dust that also accumulates in us

over time. A sheet of rain flaps

on a frayed laundry line. The front door dangles

on one hinge, the roof gone.

The birds stole it.


One thought on “Time Cut Short

  1. The birds stole it. Your use of images, do you know how adept and wise it is? A sheet of rain flaps. Yes. Hard to believe poem # 5 awaits. Never experienced anything like this. So enjoying it! Love and hugs! Richard

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