Even now, on the quivering edge
of winter solstice, the nights
are not dark enough to shroud
or obscure his mania of picking
at scabs of every promise unkept.
Even now, when the most muted moonlight
irk with its ludicrous sparkle
of a hope he prefers to stay buried
in the ash of every poem unwritten.
Joining very late to Magaly’s prompt at toads where we use lines from Kerry’s poems to write our own. This close to winter solstice “the nights are not dark enough” seems to fit.
December 15, 2019