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.

 

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