Hawthorne

[eclipse]

Night swallows the
Last spoonful 
Of moonlight. The
Genie in the bottle has
Guests, geese with
Black heads
Rest then sleep under
A hawthorn tree, red
Berries. Dense
Interweaving of branches,
Hidden histories of
Wildlife.
Winter winds are
Untempted by Pearson 
Parks empty bandstand,
They understand the biography in music in 
The sounds of interiors
Of holly tree.
Melting ice gradually
Releases hawthorns
Reflection on
Pond waters, like 
Wishing well releasing
Its spell to those who
Are receptive.
The wind blows rain like a
carousel of tears
Around the conifer 
Which of the four seasons 
Will tell riders their time
Is up, conifer has an
Extended pass, persistent
Identity. The sounds of 
Glass crashing as
Workmen dismantle
The Victorian conservatory,
Like last notes to leave
A music box, clouds
Are locked in
Position as if in
Grief. Wood of alder
Tree turn red when cut.
 

[callme AHL]

Nice, makes you want to be there. Strong opening. 

AHL

[poetjohncompton]

I love this poem

[David W. Parsley]

Nice images.  Really like the extended carousel metaphor.

 Thanks,
- David