Sandra Fowler Poems

I feel the gray rain falling in my mind.
Crying becomes a thousand leaves outlined.
My eyes are mesmerized by red sumac.
A touch of pewter shines against my back.
...

Inside my bones I carry words of you.
Dusk is oblivious to everything but blue.
My hand is tracing what is left of light,
Dancing westward upon the rim of sight.
...

An Easter flower cuts light into the sill
The sound of suffering is forever still.
Tears of forgiveness warm the evening chill.
...

You must not look at me in failing light.
The measure of the moment is too bright.
The cold, gold sunset hurts my eyes tonight.
...

For I have seen dark mountains in the sky,
More Himalayan to the naked eye,
Than any reason for our where or why.
...

The bare eyes of old houses crack with sorrow,
Because the sun will rise again tomorrow.
Of all who pass by there is no dissenter,
No mood exists upon this street but winter.
...

Blue wind upon a distant windowpane,
I hear you whistle folk songs to the rain
In tune with leaves that have no place to go.
Last light becomes the only home they know.
...

It is as if white clouds have come to earth.
The sky is falling. Do you mind, my friend?
Moon sheets echo a shining out of time.
Tree limbs cripple the cadence of snow's song.
...

I think you know that this is winter day.
This time last year woodsmoke blew us away.
Frost wrote the poem on tall panes of gray.
...

Remembering a Valentine sent to me by a poet from India,1989
You meet the moment with your solace thought.
Your fingers sketch a gray house far away.
Its window lights are warming cool resolve.
...