It's Still Life

I.
Connective Tissues

A man walks to the corner,
and back. Again. And again.
Holds a placard in his hand.

The End Is Nigh

We are, perhaps, saved
from never ending ends.

Autumn ended before it
started. No flaming colours.
A wind blew autumn away.

And now we’re on the brink
of sudden seasons of white.

Water celebrates its rise from
where it slipped below swale
and stone, and the brittle sky

dances with thunder. Finds
itself ‘tween rock and sunset,

a gray, a buried shadow, but
the colour grey lies to us. It’s

a million colours in a mason’s
hand. He cracks its richness
wide open. Greys with its

connective tissue, ever shining
and never ending…

II.
A Grey Storm

Water celebrates its rise from where it
slipped below swale and stone, and
the brittle sky dances with thunder.
Finds itself between rock and sunset.
A motion of grey. In a buried shadow.

But the colour grey lies to us. It’s
a million colours in a stonemason’s
hand. He cracks its richness wide open.
Greys with its connective tissue, ever
shining, and never ending

Written for Miz Quickkly’s Day 10: A Dozen Words (use at least 3) and PA’s “Nature“. Miz Quickly’s words are: million.  gray. motion. find. corner. worth. hand. motel. imagined. flame. company. reading.  Shared with #APoemADay on Twitter   ©Misky 2021