January 28

A sevenling

She sits silently on the step
Tendrils of smoke drift wistfully
Over the greying back garden

Numb with cold and predictability
A slow deep breath, and memories
Abandon her like motes in sunlight

confusion and fear bide their time

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s