Graham Fowell


Colombaccio


The rolling December fog
Drifts aloft while the smoke grey beech silhouettes
Baffle the whispering river.

The small warm beating hearts
Of Colombaccio high above
Join me on this astral plane
While my soul is carried somewhere here
Amongst this aged sinew.

Together we breathe the saturated dark
And await the morning
While the silent brandlings
Discover the beauty of the fallen summer
Beneath our feet.

Submitted: Monday, July 14, 2014
Edited: Monday, July 14, 2014

Topic of this poem: nature


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