A slow run in the cold starry hour before dawn —
up the hill, past the old couple’s crocuses still closed for the night,
looking like color specialty shops where love models scarves
and little boys wonder about their mother’s soft moles —
to the corner, and then an eastward turn, ’neath streetlights that die
as they burn — proud and solemn, trees without arms —
without arms, without arms, without arms
in the cold starry hour before dawn,
a slow run, at peace,
without arms.
.
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Categories: Sweet Sleep and Bare Feet
Tags: Arms, Colors, Crocuses, Dawn, Little Children, Peace, Running, Stars, Street Lights, Trees
William Michaelian 
That’s lovely –
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Thanks, Flick. I love how your page is shaping up. And you’ll be glad to know I just got back from another run in the rain. I hope all is well out your way.
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That’s kind William, thank you. It’s hard work but fun. And I’m very glad you had another run in the rain. It missed me today, though the high winds are still with us, but spring is well underway, despite being so cold. The first few lines of your poem moved me almost to tears. There is something very deep going on there.
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Thanks for telling me. I suppose it’s possible. I do tend to wander in over my head.
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The whole poem was beautiful, it’s just the first few words triggered something that was fulfilled in the last couple of lines. Thank you for posting it
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