Strummed Away
In quiet mist before daylight
the wind chime tinkles, a warm
clink with crystal to toast the
bone chilling cold
Bewilderment consumes the
hour as words fallen stonily
between us indicate
we do not know ourselves
or each other
at all
Overwhelmed, its power
weighing around us, we no longer
speak of anything familiar -
and these few lame gestures will
surely be strummed away
like the folly they are
Gusts lift the dried leaves
Thunder rolls in the distance
of our twin discontent
White puffs from the chimney
speak the few scorched moments of
everything we were
First light sketches in
the lonely old lane,
the loblolly pines and
a shadowed shackled visage -
Two faces,two masks, struggling
hard to carve themselves into
a smile
