The Mill - 1964 - Andrew Wyeth
The old Mill is lost
in my snow blindness
eyes watering
from the cold
looking through the wetness
the blur is magnified
by the power of headache
that splits my forehead
my skin curls from the cold
and once inside my arms reveal
a pattern of raindrop goose bumps
up and down the extremity of epidermis
exposed
Michael A. Wells
lots of human details in this poem. Read like the beginning of a book.
ReplyDeletewinter can do this to me also- brrrr
ReplyDeleteexcellent poem!
Feel for you. Winter is always a challenge..~ Stay warm :)
ReplyDeleteLovely poem, Michael ... now bundle up!!
ReplyDelete"a pattern of raindrop goose bumps" Wonderful image! :)
ReplyDeleteSo cold out there! :) Glad I stopped by.
ReplyDeleteThat one made me cold just reading it!
ReplyDelete=)
I could feel the coldness in your writing. Wonderful poem!
ReplyDeleteEvocative and lovely...I like what you've don with your page...
ReplyDelete