shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Dirk James


In The Cold Garden

The movement of a shivering leaf shapes and reshapes a shadow.
A breadth from somewhere stirs up the wind chimes.
You can hear a jingling coming from that foliage of bells.
Right there is a garden. A garden where desiring spirits may roam.
Where their footsteps of thoughts wander down ever-narrowing
paths of echos. They arrive in a cold place where a few things
still live and like the sprinkling of a twinkling on frozen snow is soon forgotten,
and all of this, under the fleeting light of a Winter sun.