Eight Blog Post. October 17th, 2019. Thursday. Blog Post #8
The silky sweeps of needle leaves
and moonlight choked by clouds.
I’ve always guessed the dogs could hear
the trees all sing aloud.
When coyotes call their last tattoo,
I know I’ll soon be home
The out-spilt light from windows small
sink soft into the loam.
A house is meek when it’s enwrapped
in sodden chills and gales
but once inside, the walls and wool
forget the outside wails
So now I stand a world apart
without my breath, fast beating heart
The chilling rain and bitter winds
bite deep into my aching limbs
I reach the door and stand in place
to tumble into heat’s embrace
The oaks and pines will flail about
the chipmunks know to crawl
The mud it seems has drunk too much