Sandra Fowler Poems

Friend, let us touch each other with warm words.
Deep in the thicket, hear the evening birds
Talk of old sunsets quite content to be,
No more than what the naked eye can see.
...

Outside rain plays its prolonged summer song.
Gray windowpanes record earth's silent cry.
Faint light is just a whisper caught by time,
Words spare and elegant, long lost in space.
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Your hand grows gnarled.
It makes a fretwork shadow on my face.
The judgment of the mood is Biblical.
I hear you counting red leaves as they fall.
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How well you speak the language of the rain.
Your mood plays back to me on dusk's blue horn.
Light is unstable as a candleflame,
A thread of being subject to the wind.
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Sun crackles in the blue reserved hill.
One lone leaf glitters eerily of chill.
The sky looks grosgrain from my window sill.
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The boy caught in a dizziness of leaves,
Flinches as colors fall from wind-clogged eaves
Shouts as their shadows race across his sleeves.
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If this became the last day of the world,
The sun and moon and stars mosiac hurled
Beyond the barrier of time and space
While we stand locked together face to face
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Snowflakes create mosaics of moonlace.
They paint fantastic shadows on the glass.
A word or two accents the falling day.
Dusk flickers like a magic picture light.
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I had you at the height of your poem.
Green thundered in the silence of itself.
I think our moment had its perfect storm,
Though it existed in a shadow tune.
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Black house roofs are a mirror to the smoke.
The cloud mood makes a backdropp for good-bye.
You lift me parallel to chimney stacks
And make me dizzy with your old world kiss.
...