The Still Hours.
Two Chinese girls studying porcelain,
Their fingers dance with delicate precision.
Fragile sprigs of Winter Jasmine
Troubled by December wind.
Monochrome porcelain does not change
While century folds deep into century.
Slow wave folding into wave
Then breaking on the shore.
These girls seem wiser than their years,
They almost fear to lift the bowls,
Simplicity loaned to their safe keeping.
Jasmine fades in April sunlight,
Windblown blossom on wet snow
Unnoticed falls.
The porcelain bowl I dropped at school
Chimed like a bell, but did not break.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
December 19th. - 26th. 2017.
*
Today is the Shortest Day.
Today is the shortest day;
An ink stain on pristine paper
No razor can erase.
I snuggle tight into my dream
Waiting for a hint of light
To glow between the curtains.
Ice shimmering on a distant lake,
A single streak of winter dawn
Glinting low on the horizon.
A ripe bruising of dark cloud
Dissipates from off the surface
Of a sky chill with silence,
The flocks have long since arrowed south.
Today is the shortest day,
A comma on an empty page,
The story not yet written.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
December 21st. 2017.
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