Clouds hang old pictures on the wavering air, <br />Like wine wallpaper threadbare to the light. <br />Cold leaves cut shadows on the poet's cheek. <br />The clarity is bell like to the bone. <br /> <br />The sun pulls down the heavy cloth of sky, <br />Muffles the scissor sound of rising wind. <br />One red bird burns upon the rim of dark. <br />God knows what name would bring him winging back. <br /> <br />Previously published, 'Appalachian Heritage'<br /><br />Sandra Fowler<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/old-pictures/
