Something So Fine
Poem By Sandra Fowler
You must not look at me in failing light.
The measure of the moment is too bright.
The cold, gold sunset hurts my eyes tonight.
I will not listen to those panes of gray.
Touch was so articulate that day
The smoke of ironweed warmed resolve away.
Your West Virginia face was poetry.
I loved the hollows of its symmetry
Too much to know it could not shelter me.
There was something so fine about that hill,
Your old house standing bravely up to chill,
While white wind heaped dead leaves upon the sill.
Close your gray eyes the meaning is too plain.
They sing me Wednesday like an old refrain,
But sun will not stand still for that again.