By Katelynn Paluch
winter unravels the seams
of gold green gratitude from the trees
only the frame to remain:
precursor to the beauty bestowed by the weaver,
fast asleep, exhausted from knitting months’ worth of bursting beautiful leaves
and although gratitude falls,
the wind blows it far and wide
scattering the hope and love
winter detangles from my insides.
barren left am i
barren as the skeletons outside
and yet the outline, the promise of future beauty contained
the framework remains

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *


Opus Archive!

Check out the history of our pages here!