Day 29: The Walk After the Feast

walk

The walk after the feast,
boots on hard ground,
cold tipped nose peeking
from scarf.
Maybe it will snow.

Let’s cut bittersweet
as we walk
past pumpkins gone soft,
let’s talk
about nothing.

Red berries hang
from silver limbs
over thin ice;
we never noticed them before
from the car.

 

From my poetry collection, Three Ways of Searching (Finishing Line Press, 2013)

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