Poem

There was nothing.
No sound
Not muffled
Nothing to break against silence
No way to place ourselves in the world
Which had disappeared.

The idea for this came from a prompt I was given years ago in a writing group. The guy who gave the prompt happened to be a friend from High School with whom I was in a Beckett play. The memory influenced this very brief dialog.

Snow cold road
Snaked between hillsides
Muddied with sleet
Rocks ice-slick
Sky close, tumbling into blue
Sun edging
Along November tree line.

Yesterday I breathed in
new fields, rambling walks up
watery streets
into a grey-stone church
colourful cushions set like books…

The shape love takes is not the one you expect.
It is not a circle.
It is a serpentine…