Ash Wednesday

This entry is part 23 of 29 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2012-13

Pale like the moon, your forehead
marked by a sliver of dirt—

How much time do we have, led in
and out of the maze-like woods?

The river quarrels noisily with the rain—
always, it tries to be more than it is.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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