another one

gus stills

Outside the wind is picking up,
stripping the trees of what's left,
Inside the baseboard creaks
and groans, and the patter in the walls
returns with a fleeting softness.
Fleeting...that our thoughts and
our hearts and our love can
fall, that they can fall short...
this is what is fleeting about
the moments of our lives.
It's all about that last tenuous fall--
not from grace but potential--
as if it could be measured,
meted out in the beatings of
our hearts, apart, together,
in the wind and in the warmth.

justam

This one is nicely done.

gus stills

thanks