Whirling eddies cross the sheets of glass,

Cloaked before my eyes, and

The dark afterglow of yesterday’s breeze

Assaults the world.

Standing here unperturbed, I laid my mind

To rest.  Books and tales are nothing

When I have roses and thorns

To dwell upon.

My eyes see nothing brighter than you.

Your frown, your smile, your look of hurt

Hold more to comprehend than many tomes,

And all the same I squint at the sight.

Somehow through it all you saw me, and I have

Lost an indescribable on this day.  

The eddies on the sheets of glass forever

Are my solitude.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A fragmentary glance through glass at intemperant weather.

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Christopher Thomas's picture

Cute. I never have liked your archaisms, but here they are, at least in my opinion, more or less at their best. Nice work, sir.

By the way, I have a fucking postpoems account. How sweet is that?