The history of shadows, a longing
for brightness to bring through your
eyes shapes and their

belongings: our differences, entwined.
It is evening. Wind breathes in the trees and

through your hands at the piano, returning
speech to its origin, clouds, the moon,
burning wood. November, dying.

How often I fail through lack of words.

Beauty in form. Not to create but as in
respiration, to share, to accept and
return without thought. In and out,

the days reciprocate. White, black. Figures
waiting in darkness for light to come bear them.


20 thoughts on “Interiors

  1. Written and imaged as though one is climbing the stairs (piano keys) to heaven (clouds in trees). You have created a movement in which even the conductor would be proud to reciprocate. Nicely performed!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. “How often I fail through lack of words.” I’ve had cause to feel this line very keenly, but I’m relieved that even when I’m unable to coax thoughts into form, you can do it so beautifully!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Thank you for liking “Glory of the Grass.” To me, this is a beautiful poem about the mysterious art of sharing and communication. It is amazing to think of all the processes our minds must go through to express ourselves in one form or another whether it is music, poetry, or art. It is no wonder that sometimes we might find ourselves thinking, as you aptly put it, “How often I fail through lack of words.”

    Liked by 1 person

  4. My inhalation literally slowed as I read: “Wind breathes in the trees and through your hands at the piano . . .” So delicately beautiful. I’m enjoying reading your poetry!
    And, thank you for stopping by Mocha Muse!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Hi Robert. This is another wonderful poem. I often “like” them, but this time I had to comment too! “Not to create but as in/respiration, to share, to accept and/return without thought.” A quite striking sentiment. Thanks for the enjoyment your poems bring. Daniel

    Liked by 1 person

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