Three Quarter Time
E
Eric Cockrell
0
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the smell of woodsmoke
lingers in the air;
darkness falls,
like silent thunder.
the earth tremors and turns,
you walk from room to room....
or perhaps only,
a curtain blown by passion,
a broken cup, cobwebs
on pulsing walls.
a cry of passion,
water bursts the pipes...
one of my shirts
that you wore to bed.
a single shot
on a November morn....
the deer falls in
three quarter time.
sheets that still
carry your scent...
the ground naked,
and hungry for rain!
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