Crowned with gold by the rising sun
the tree tops taunt me
They reign joyously in their airy empyrean
illuminated, exalted, beacons unreachable
from the vale of shadow in which I stand
Down upon the earth,
the grasses tangle in an untidy carpet
dull and trampled, littered by crumpled brown leaves
The mock orange has lost half its foliage
and the ragged fronds
reveal ivy encroaching from its roots
The memory of bridal blossoms, a mix of glad buds
half-unfurled petals, and flowers full-blown
cannot charm, as unreachable as the crowned oaks
The glory of autumn gone
nature half-dead lacks the clean clarity of winter
messiness drowns in dimness, made yet more dim
by the brilliance of the overarching heavens
As the dawning progresses to full morn
light will reach the shadows, dispelling them
Would that it might reach me
In memory of my mother:
One Crossing
Too Late
Upwelling
Beauty in the Close
Missing Her
Grievous Loss