our need to understand
a moonless, midnight path
warning us to be careful with our falling words
dangerous to dwell in the cave
reality morphs into nightmares
forevermore a life balance
derelict actions swallowed up
in the abyss
a worn winter’s welcome
between the narrow path of wisdom
and the unassuming curves of knowledge.
Leaden footed winter.
A pieced poverty of color
the house close-mouthed.
a fence frosted, still erect.
Leaden footprints of anticipation,
the tulips and daffodils quilled.
(I found a black and white print of “The Poet’s House” in a second-hand book. Artist unknown. I added seasonal color. This is winter.)