Cynthia Horvath – The House of Kingdom Come

​

​

                                               He confesses in a whisper, probably not.

​

           I felt the trees

           waiting for the rain,

           but instead, it was

           white, cold wetness

           determined to make landfall

           a branch at a time.

                                               His gravel-grey eyes say no – you don’t

           These are the days

           where we begin

           to forget

           everything.

                               Adamant, he proclaims: I will not comment on that.

           If snow can fall

           softly on the world

           perhaps all is

           not lost.

                                               I start as a knot.