Another Adagio
The frost on our front lawn is a carpet rising sun shows the diamonds of
through bending Viridian tips. Their frozen coats are a crunchy godsend
of brightening lightness made terra firma real until their transparency dissolves
in nothing but air above the hard ground.
Why must I write in run-on sentences attempting to make moments whole again
through precise descriptive detail?
Metaphors & adjectives repeat themselves in every language the longer one lives.
That is the pallor of a pear silvered by moon
which wants to be phenomenal for itself alone.
That essence wants also the moon's rare bow
as such a faint arch between earth & sky
when the night has right rain.
Then let the wetness spectrum spread to make a miraculous sight
captured by rhymes.
It is for such shimmers writing lives when either writing or living
should be enough for ordinary times' slowing rhythmic breaths
in the heart's pacing metronome.
Resident artist/curator for The Chroma Museum, Stephen Mead has intermittently been submitting work for publication going on four decades. He remains grateful to all of the editors who have given his work a good home as now, retired from his day job, he is busy trying to sell his 40-year backlog of art that you can view here.
