Member Rara Avis
[First Post] 8382
Bombs overthrow their spouting smoke.
The trees out front, made of burning boughs.
Against the charred gate, knobs of grapes.
Dashed seeded centers, the house a fallen shape.
The daylit sky outgrows its swallowed smoke.
The dusktime moon hues the glowing ruin.
Watch the rubbled hand try escape.
The window is starburst cracked, unneatly broken.
Crushed by everything that mattered to it once when,
The hand finds a penny on the sill.
The coin shines like a glassmade ring through the pane.
But copper does not absolve god's will.
copyright 2000 Mike Chmielecki