A Loosely Connected Poetry Collection

Gaily playing with poetic form

Photo by Ashley Knedler on Unsplash

I

There are no strands of green at our day’s end.
No more pretending our night holds blessings
Beyond the ring of shadow bells. Souls tend
What time will rend and all the world will sing
For sacred things to seal the breach and bring
The breaking end to time as the red sun
Sets over one tree left to shade the dun
And dusty…