Autumn, Break of Day
The troubled waters—
tumbling forth over the sand,
flowing underneath
a rising mist, a lowly,
billowing fog that
obscures the distance before
me—slow down in time,
captured in the winter glaze,
shoreline frozen fast,
ripples pausing in moonlight,
waves ebbing, whisked where
twilit shadows fall on us.
Snow begins to pack
on the banks where streams would once
flourish, where petals
would fall off the autumn trees
to float where they may—
drifting through the still season
to the cold mountains
where the air thins, softly chills,
and where quiet comes
to those who seek it. Silence
like seaweed gathers
in the surf that sways forward,
Washing past the swell
that pools in the remains of
the skittering day.
Upon an embankment, branches
interlace, weaving
a clumsily gathered web
of half-forgotten
memories—the unspoken,
fading mirages,
the illusive scurf of life.
The troubled waters
grow idle, torpid with frost.
The troubled waters
hush by the dawn, and settle
by the break of day.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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