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Poetry Revelation: Winter
Where the cherry trees touch dusk in descant—
wine branches blossom effulgent, white,
all darkness of the night for this full time—
I wander ’neath the fading light, recant.
I wander ’neath the fading light, recant.
Seasons of my soul were like a grand home
I sojourned in once, for the stayed calling
when all life pauses before the falling.
The invalid was destined to find none
of the aforementioned illness beneath
these eaves of healthy grandeur, sunlight near
the slant of shadows, refracted prism tear
that moved over the house, the sea, the heath.
If I, in fury, could my earth restrain,
I would a hundred blossoms in my train.
Emily Isaacson
