Winter, thirty degrees

The branches of trees
are wrapped in spirals of lights.
They look trapped. A man
has lost his glove. It lies on
the sidewalk, fingers pointing up.

Advertisements

About Patricia Markert

Moviegoer.
This entry was posted in poetry, tanka. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s