Trees in dark and stars
through shadows which shake
in breeze,
the silhouette leaves
—a moon lighted frieze
of shifting branches
shapeless on the sky.
Heavy sigh, but fire’s
complex dance—
smoke puffed rhythms
which rise in chance
—contours too fast for form
darkens quick
on branching shade
and almost warms
today’s ice, calms
raw nerves frayed
by daytime’s oftentimes charade.
Suddenly I’m hopeful now
as smoke and spark and stable stars
leach fatigue away.
Morgan Driscoll lives in Connecticut and writes poetry to supplement his income as a commercial artist. He has been published in 30+ journals and anthologies and has made over $100. You can find his work in Humanist Magazine, The Penwood Review, The Orchards Poetry Journal, Constellate Magazine, Caesura, Northwest Indiana Literary Journal, The Avenue, Meetinghouse, Newtown Literary, and many others.
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