Birds are in conversation with the dark. <br />They sing their elegies from power lines. <br />You clasp my hand to hold the music still. <br />Such stanzas, Friend, must not be winter lost. <br /> <br />Clouds picture tall gray houses in the sky, <br />Their windows incandescent with autumn. <br />You smile and say, 'It might be possible <br />To light our way home via red gold panes.' <br /> <br />With gentle skill your imagery creates, <br />A rare landscape for westbound travelers. <br />Connect me to your version of sun fall. <br />No one translates December quite like you. <br /> <br />Copyright,2008, Sandra Fowler <br /> <br />Published in, 'The Taj Mahal Review'<br /><br />Sandra Fowler<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-touch-of-gold/
