(Chopin’s Ghost)
THE kiss of cold
–ness froze my soul
a tin can kicked
beyond winter’s road
Hands in pockets
did not abate the shiver
ice-shattered thoughts
as I walk alone down
My cobble-path stones
across the way as I walk
and through a golden lilt
window-soul I hear
Chopin playing on air
My friend-soul I’m told
kissing my footfalls
– – – _ – _–> as I go
:: 04-28-2014 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 