Friday, January 27, 2012

Small Stone, January 27

(If there were snow,
it would fill the gaps
between us)

In this winter that does not feel like winter,
you leave for work before dawn
and I leave for work before dawn
and we come home tired and smelling of rain,
and we leave our muddy shoes
on opposite sides of the door,
and your mud is black city mud
and mine is red country clay.

Oh God,

Honey,
when did we stop walking
on the same Earth?

2 comments:

Indigo said...

The weather was spot on for the temperament in NY lately. The ending of this piece felt so heartfelt. (Hugs)Indigo

~me~ said...

Lovely. Sad, but lovely. Extremely lovely. Your poetry! You're poetry!