poem
Sunday
The sky from my window
seems perpetually caught
between day and night,
a three o'clock grayness
punctuated only by a latticework
of leafless branches
and five geese flying in formation.
Momentarily excited, the cat
settles back into sleep
as the honking fades into the distance
and the afternoon regains is heaviness,
waiting for silence
to fall with the snow.
Jeff Barnes
The sky from my window
seems perpetually caught
between day and night,
a three o'clock grayness
punctuated only by a latticework
of leafless branches
and five geese flying in formation.
Momentarily excited, the cat
settles back into sleep
as the honking fades into the distance
and the afternoon regains is heaviness,
waiting for silence
to fall with the snow.
Jeff Barnes