Poems
by William J
Matzilli
The Fog
The fog,
thick,
hung like
wet feathers
across the
throat of
a tired
and beat
September
morning.
Gliding
She glided
down the
staircase
like a trickle
of holy
water,
she opened
the door:
‘Goodbye’
she said,
with no
smile and a
shine in her
eyes I had
never seen
before.
The Mirror
The reflection
of your
walking by
is momentarily
captured in
the glazed leaf
of a dying
flower,
I hold that
now and hear
your
footsteps
returning,
like
fingernails
scratching
down a
blind mirror.
