photo: ed haskell
by
Robert Walton
Flames,
Flickering,
flaring
Between
black pines'
Sawtooth
shadows
Drew
me.
Firelight,
Always
brightest
After
midnight,
Filled
an empty circle,
For
no faces
Leaned
in,
No
smiles shimmered
Like
glass ornaments.
Stars,
Not
eyes,
Gleamed
upon a last
Sapphire
breath
Of
embers.
Only
silence,
Deep
as mountains,
Huddled
close.
~
previously in Song of the San Joaquin
Journal
