death of a leaf

when the moon is high, there can be
no pity, no regret.
dive into that grave dug for you,
freshly turned soil soft such
welcome respite from a season
spent clinging to… to
summer, hope,
last rays of light as they hit the lowest angle
and bleed across the sky –
there is no shame in lying among the moss and the dead
giving themselves to dirt.
sleep easy before the quiet snow,
one simple silver bell toll at a time,
becomes a burial shroud, so calm, so inevitable.

#Poetry Friday

#Poetry round-up today! WOO! Some oldies I pulled randomly out of the hat. Remember – over 650 posts here. Make sure, on rainy days like today, you spend some time and look around 🙂

Finding Robert Zimmerman

the ex-stripper

Artist (My Mother on the Shore)

Sky cannot know Ground

All roads less traveled…

the yarn spinner

sunset while house-sitting

untitled (first spring nights)

San Francisco and The Blue Soap by Bobby Ty

My favorite commenter Bobby Ty left this gem as a comment …  so I’m giving it its deserved spotlight! Enjoy! Thank you Ty – really great piece!

San Francisco and The Blue Soap

When I bathe
With the blue soap
And I smell its crisp aroma
I remember you lying, half covered with the sheet in the Kimpton
While I showered
And your inked arms and unfinished back were a tapestry

And we went to Boboquivari on Lombard
You reclining beautiful in the Taxi
Your head on my lap
And the driver told us of Milk and Twinkies on Lombard
But we were too young to remember the event
And we walked on the Pier and you said
“Listen to the seals!” as they barked and splashed, unseen in the black water
When I bathe with the blue soap
I remember only you
I remember only San Francisco