It’s still winter here
The world’s suspended
muted by sunless thoughts
like puffs of damp cottons in my ears
All too familiar empty smiles
surroundings and past
silent colorless ice plunges
into spiral wind, sliding
muggy snow
Solitude
See, the swallows
flew away
long time ago
I can’t remember now
But If they’ll stop flying
perhaps they’ll move on
-one day
Except, listen..
with their clipped wings
they won’t move at all
Yesterday
they sung in unison
dressed with eternity
Uncaring of winter presages
embracing,
so willing to fall
Until the wind shifted
To unrecognizable chants of blue
uncovered truths
uncharted migration of being
I said: it’s still winter, here
yet all is the same
The earth has slowly sheltered the fallen leaves
with melancholic tenderness
under pale moons, fog
rain and clouds
Even a frozen lake
keeps the undercurrents imprisoned,
unmoving, untouched
poem & photography by Marco Pignataro
