Doug Roy, Raccoon Moon, Cut Paper
Gray Winter Light
You look to the tree
there’s no light
no brown-winged sparrows
no flitting
no song
no chatter
thin pencil line branches
seem to shed
gray light
the long ago fallen snow lies
like tossed out the window bed sheets
cast over the brown grass gritty
and blurry white
and the remaining shrub leaves
dusty dull-led green
withered like ash
brittle wings
I’m convinced
the sky is made of dust
the air is heavy with clay
breath
and no golden brass
or blue liquid will ever again seep
through the gray
only we’ve all heard
of dawn roses
and evening fire
crackling like a bronzy metal sail
billowing in the wind of light
but not for now
there’s no erasing the crudeness
to life
the sadness
the sorrow
the grief
blessed is the one who
in the bleakest shadows
remembers something
of gladness
a smidge of joy
sunlight through the trees
the brown fluttering wings
of blustery sparrows twittering
or the golden light rising
like a nearing ship
upward from the emerging dark
blue shadows of the air
____________________
Michael Mannerowski