Sunday, January 2, 2011

Saturday Centus

mist rose to greet her

branches beckoned, an inviting canopy

mood match she thought

vaporous vines, vaporous lives

a New Year of empty promises

as if 60 seconds held wishes

like a bottled genie

no fairy tale, a minute in time

all remains the same, her name

drizzled in the cloud

cold numbing awaits

a release to the pain, a surrender of self

her crumpled up list of resolutions

fluttered on the ground

as she embraced the haze

(Participating in Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus which I have missed for way too long)