February Afternoon, after Berthe Morisotby Joan E. Cashin
The bare trees drink down the light
As the sun sets,
The windows reflecting the red lacquer
As the color swims madly down the glass.
A tall thin man walks down our street.
His hair making a trailing blond rag,
And his breath like tiny white ferns in the air.
He raises his grey eyes and smiles.
Winter will end, he wants to say.
Love may not last, but spring will come.
* * * * *
Joan E. Cashin writes from the Midwest, and she has published in many journals, most recently in MONO, VITA BREVIS, MONTHS TO YEARS, and LITERARY YARD.