by December 31, 2019 0 comments

the world is just
it is time
to listen
and to fall in love again

with a poem perhaps
an unlikely rock star
a tango dancer’s liquid eyes
my husband’s long hair

with snow on ladybugs
all huddled on agave
leaves against
the frost high up
on Eighty Mountain

with crisp scent of pine

while memories skip
over cobblestones
and black paper lanterns
carried in procession
a candle shining through
colored transparency
magic from city center
around the castle
along the moat

and back home

rain slows down
to snow
in silent celebration

editors note:

On this last Eve of the year, the world awaits what we’ll make of what we see… – mh clay

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