when the sun tipped past the tree line
and birds ended their morning song
he opened the windows
turned back to the rooms
and chipped for her in the woodwork
when the rays blinked in the restless leaves
and down blew from the cattails
he felt along the planking
dirtied his callused hands
and pried splinters in the floorboards
when hunger thumped its last for dinner
and crickets tested their bowstrings
he climbed the ladders
wobbly on leaning legs
and listened for her in the chandeliers
in the night
he stopped
in the darkness
she moved
her footsteps
echoed deep
in the woodwork
7 comments:
Jason I could see the workman's hands to his work, though using words like chipping and scraping are not so much a carpenters style you had me. Then the last 6 lines changed the whole tenor of the piece. All I can say Jason is you have a strange and unique imagination. Do not ever let it be corralled.
lovely
Yes, beautiful ~.
Walking Man, that was a cool compliment. Very gratefully received! It got me thinking about how I hold back and only let little spurts of thought through. Might be interesting to let it gush. It would be new, even to me.
Anne, I could see where this one might speak to you.
Lee, thanks!! I like these little oddities that give a sense of story depth despite few words.
yes, there is definitely something going on beneath the surface...
an interesting peek.
Szelsofa, peeks are the most fascinating, aren't they?
:)
a glimpse, chosen well, that is, sometimes tells you more about something than a multitude of long gazes...
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