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I cannot sketch these walls in colour,
paint reflections into household things,
transform your pale fingers
into exotic dancers
across the stage of the breakfast table.
I cannot cut holes in your silences,
turn them into star-shaped flakes
like paper doily decorations,
line your windows with them,
hang them in the naked trees.
I cannot sew beads into the sky,
embroider a moon from silver threads
to turn your view into
something more than simply winter;
I cannot pull bright silks from my sleeve.
I have only this threadbare jacket,
its pockets filled with words,
all of them white rabbits,
all of them hopping
invisibly
into the
snow.
(from my collection 'To Know Bedrock', published by Pindrop Press)
Copyright © Sharon Black 2011
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