Deep
It’s the last
finger of winter scouring
the moon full and flat.
I swept tongue-cold
spiderwebs from the air
this morning. Wisps
of meadow fog
on the drift,
cat-whisker soft.
It’s a boundless deep.
Twiglet #60: a boundless deep
It's Still Life
poetry and prose
It's Still Life 
9 responses to “Twiglet #60”
beautiful – love the ‘tongue-cold spiderwebs’
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Thank you.
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Misky, this is simply breathtaking. That first stanza. Those “tongue-cold spiderwebs.” Oh, my. I am chilled to the bone, just reading this.
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We’re dressed in multilayers it’s so cold here.
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“of meadow fog
on the drift,
cat-whisker soft.”
If I had to pick a favorite line.
I am so looking forward to being out of winter’s boundless deep!
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I’m looking forward to that, too. The crocuses are ready to open though, so hope reigns.
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No such luck here… maybe in March.
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your phrases are boundlessly good
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Thanks, Candy.
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