by Kevin Casey
The winter stays
put in its corner —
an ash bucket,
unhandled and dented,
hungering for embers
the summer stole to
paint that sunrise
while you slept.
The sun rose like a
a child’s red spade,
and dug its way
through apricot and amber,
saffron and sand,
to the pearl of sky,
and to seashell
clouds gathering.
And waking, you hold
the city to your ear
and hear the waves
whisper, shorebirds crying,
and my own landlocked
voice, tongue burned to
the bucket’s mouth,
starving for embers.
Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing