Look up the sky, its frozen breath is hanging
Off the golden river, and our eyes are both
Blind and piercing at once the veil of time
As the crimson sail billows --
Beckoning at us
Through the years.
Looped in black ink of trees, this winter sun, --
how it quivers! and how young
your chilled cheeks feel.
| I especially like the last lines here. Up until that point the human presence is as the observer, then suddenly its observed and the distinction is lovely in how it veers from the nature imagery yet also ties into it, being apart of the landscape. I also like that you could have described the cheeks in color but didn't, the way you used specific colors to describe the other aspects of the poem. The chilled cheeks feeling young is also very interesting and I automatically know exactly what you mean by that!||| Posted on 2013-04-03 00:00:00 | by Aym | [ Reply to This ] |