Cordelia Hanemann

The Old Mill Place

homage to Robert Penn Warren

 

Planes of water shift

in icy light--mill pond mirrors

the edge of autumn--ochre, lake, 

madder, sienna--leaf by leaf, 

still in sky and still in pool,

upside down and rightside up.

 

Water licks the old stonework

of truss and dam, greened in moss,

mill long rotted away, its struts

and boards fallen one by one to dust

and measured time.

 

All is gone--grand old wheel,

careless boys who played there,

white and thin, chill bodies,

echoes of bare-chested dares,

grown old, moved on.

 

In the inbetween of dusk and night, 

a breeze picks up to toss innocent 

leaves, a lonely rustle and final 

golden snowfall drifts softly down, 

swirls in little eddies 

before slowly sailing away. 

tiffany jolowicz Monday on Michigan Island, Yesterday, the Day Before, Two Thousand Years