As crimson lanterns,
strung beside the river,
drench and darken
in autumnal rain,
I recall a sunny wedding
yesterday - two red balloons
eloped like lovers in Chagall,
rose above the steeple spire,
floating weightless
into afternoon.
Cloud pulls down
a violet hood,
glass glints
with particles of stars,
summer's sickly odour,
sodden, rotting blossom,
lingers on.
Electric blue, a gash of sky
reveals a scimitar new moon,
brilliantly clear and strange,
to mark the season's change.
The season turns
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2006
Свидетельство о публикации №106050100285
Свидетельство о публикации №106050100285
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