Deft fingers sketch the ever falling sun, <br />Paint good-bye on the lens of imagery. <br />West fades across a field of goldenrod. <br />Amber is warm elegiac to the touch. <br /> <br />Shadows become a landscapes final gift. <br />You tell me so with your eloquent eyes. <br />One need not speak to be articulate. <br />I hear what you could never say aloud. <br /> <br />Above our heads, sky is autumn enhanced. <br />I think it is a masterpiece in gray. <br />You wrap your arms around me like a coat. <br />And so we stand immersed in light's ebb tide. <br /> <br />Copyright,2008, Sandra Fowler<br /><br />Sandra Fowler<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/deft-fingers/
