Poetry Porch: Poetry

 

Bare ruiníd choirs –
By Mary Buchinger
 
 

             last night
I walked by
    my dead

       friendís house
             my feet
plowed

    the fallen
leaves    beneath
   the dying

     ash     words
   so many
      words   he

and I had
   dared to
try out

against
     indifferent
air –

          once   I
felt his hand
   in mine

in a country
      Iíve never
   known

             we
     crossed the
    threshold

of   an ancient
   chapel
      its broken

   stone     pews
       frilled with
    thistles    crows

             the ceiling
above us   then
    there –

    an absolute and
unencumbered
             blue


Copyright © 2021 by Mary Buchinger.