My light jacket out of season ― today an abridgement of yesterday ― sun ensnared by nearly naked branches, barely a glitter on the winding brook that parallels my footpath ― a tuft of grass solitary, forlorn and shivering ― only in the gathering dark, a lingering past, like a lengthening shadow, or a foreshortened future to reflect upon? ― precious little now for water to capture and convey ― kneeling, nevertheless, at a bend in the brook and cupping my hands …
coming to taste it
this late in the day
the water is clear
coming to taste it
this late in the day
the water is clear
by Jeffrey Woodward
Detroit, Michigan
first published in Ink, Sweat & Tears, July 31, 2007
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