there are no flowers here but snow.
the bay not yet free chunked with ice
the white of which exists only against a distant liquid sea.
at least the sun visits, comforting,
illusion though it is,
visions of thawing, melting down to something green.
in the long sleep of winter, I have dreamed
something Spanish that you said along a twilight turquoise
something soft covering sun drenched shoulders
silver threads an old man’s harp played for money by the moon
About the Poet:
PD Lyons was born and raised in the USA. Traveling and living abroad since 1998. Now permanently residing in of Ireland. Received The Mattatuck College Award for Outstanding Achievement in Poetry. Received Bachelor of Science with honours from Teikyo Post University Connecticut. Please visit pdlyons blog at http://pdlyons.wordpress.com/
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