Today's poem is by Lynne Knight
Body in Late Meditation
An hour from now the river will be grey,
the last light rising up from it like smoke,
all trace of its red brilliance gone. This day
will be the past, when voices called or spoke
like rushing water, slowing as the cold
of night came nearer with its hints of death.
How quick all passing is. Even these bold
reds, spread like fire, give way to icy breath
tingeing the trees and banks unearthly white.
If night were one long dream of being held
inside the lover's arms, we'd stay there, light
with joy we'd never want to see dispelled.
We'd lose these dark-banked fears of growing old,
of slipping off like water, deep and cold.
Copyright © 2003 Lynne Knight All rights reserved
from Snow Effects
Small Poetry Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Support Verse Daily
Verse Daily's very generous sponsors:
Sponsor Verse Daily!
Web Monthly Features
About Verse Daily
Contact Verse Daily
Publications Noted & Received
Copyright © 2002, 2003 Verse Daily
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2002, 2003 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved