The Last Snowfall
The blue of the night
is shallow here;
the sun’s kiss lingers
like lipstick on a cheek.
Feathers whisper
in the trees
as wings and claws
flex; the eagerness
and anticipation
stored in the hollows
of the forest
threaten to spill
out onto
the patchy brown grass.
The snow melts
before it hits the ground,
floating down on warm currents
and caught,
between blinks,
in the soft street light.
Soon, Summer will dry
the puddles on the road
and ripen the fruit
on the trees.
No one remembers
the last snowfall
until Summer scorches
bare skin.
Comments 0
Loading...