Three Small Words

Three Small Words

A Poem by Ken e Bujold

Elsewhere, I have it on good authority, 
clocks keep time --
the slow creep of mountains inching 
towards clarity, comprehension of
spring melt to trickle of river, 
winds along verdant valleys to sun- 
singed coasts -- the rudimentary basics
of a calculus we both seem to have failed. 

Perhaps this is how love was always meant
to unravel, or it could be
we are quite simply two of a kind, 
stars crossed in the heat of a moment
unlike that of others --

I won’t presume to know what odds 
make the likelihood of surviving another winter, 
if we manage to slip-slide the certain avalanche or 
if, when they dig us out in the spring, they’ll find
eight fingers clenched to the cold icicle of regret --

the answers to such questions don’t exist 
where time drifts on currents 
more opaque than the skins of glass
we traced along the line of rose carillons, 
bathed by the shadows of the sleeping spirits.

The poetry of our life together still inspires
chords beyond my ability 
to compose --

the landscape of three small words 
a horizon edging beyond the sunset.   

Ken e Bujold

© 2022 Ken e Bujold


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Another gem of an offering only possibly threatened somewhat, at least out this way, by the prospect of yet another El Nino having been forecast

Posted 2 Months Ago



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Added on November 26, 2022
Last Updated on November 26, 2022

Author

Ken e Bujold
Ken e Bujold

Somewhere in Ontario, Canada



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Writers write, it's what we do. Fish swim, woodpeckers peck... writers scribble (inside and outside the lines). more..

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