March 10, 2014

Poem for a Knowing Crone. ~ Andrea Rossin {poem}





a somewhat pang behind our eyes

the sinking darkness of places unvisited

dreams undreamed

visions in wispy slivers blowing away


cold before spring

white and bare seemingly

beneath the frosty ground

breaks and moans the cries of change


bald rock and slick pitch

we slip and grasp again

time grows long in bare light

march’s bony hand reaches beckoningly


her long fingers smooth brittle branches

her cloudy breath puffs the morning’s gloom

her sweet smile warms one lengthening afternoon’s shadows

her voice the death throes of doubt


a somewhat pang behind our eyes

the reminder of darkness

of all we have dreamed this winter

blows away in gusty whisperings


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