« Back to issue 39

Cantalena

by



These clouds are from the arctic.
They unnerve me
with apocalyptic unravelings.
I don’t grasp such arcane wisdom.
Night hangs from the branches
in desultory sobriety.
Is it a judgment on my morals
or my cardiovascular system?

Time moves like a mudslide.
It carries me with it,
as stars enact their ceremonies
like bats in a cave—
shadows in wandering moonlight,
metamorphing into fossils
in their inscrutable way
from love or fear or dismay.

1 Likes | 0 Comments | Author


About George Freek


I can't make it interesting if there's nothing interesting there. Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, the most interesting thing in my life is the fact that I write poetry and plays (and often get the poetry published and the plays produced.)

0 comments
Discussion

You must be a Red Fez member to comment.
There are no comments yet...

Working:

IT WAS SAN FRANCISCO, Indian summer, the October sky blue and enormous. It was mid-afternoon in the Mission district...
Working
by William Taylor Jr