Tag Archives: time


That room sticks to me like a shadow
the pacing accusations in the mirror
the time wasting slowly across the wet windows
this end to that end to this end to that that end
the long hall outside
the shuffle outside that would stop
and move on

Those years stick to me like shadows
the fretful worries in the worn rug
the dust left at all the edges
that corner that corner that corner and that corner
caged problems with no answers
the trees bending down in rain outside
waiting to spring back

Copyright Kay Winter

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Same Language

We spoke the same language
with different words
Always the feeling of light shining through.
Words like dust motes on Sunday afternoon.
A cloud of words
waiting for
the gush and scent of rain.

Always the feeling of light shining through.

The soft sounds of his jackets in the entryway
soft as snowfall
A door opening softly inward late at night
the streetlight shining through the dark window
lingering into the gray mornings
those long winters.

The snow covering our words.

Still, always the sense of light shining through.
The headlights through the snowfall
driving home.

We spoke the same language with different words.

The smell of coffee burning,
a dog barking a yard away,
a door being shut outward too quickly,
the goodbye on the other side.

Copyright Kay Winter

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In Deep

In the days
unminded and alone
in the corner room
at the quiet edge of the house
during the gray holidays
I fell into words
and through the words
into worlds
distant from my own.

In the days
unheeded and free
by the winter window
I wandered into worlds
of dusk and mystery
and traveled with magic.

Copyright Kay Winter

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Did Not Tell

She didn’t tell anyone
before she went upstairs
for the last time
leaving her corsage
in the kitchen

He didn’t tell anyone
before quitting the team
and walking home the long way
skirting town
leaving the stained shirt
in a ditch with his

What they didn’t know
is that the dark box
for the light
to empty it.

Copyright Kay Winter

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The last time I fell
it was so far
and so long that
I remember
the falling.

My eyes saw nothing at first.
I felt the dark wind against my shoulders
and against my knees
as I fell.

The last time I fell
it lasted days.
and light
like long blinks.

At first I saw only the dark.
And the light so blinding.
And then darkness again
and stars at my feet.

The last time I fell
the moon rose between
my tumbling feet
and changed from a sliver
to a half
to a full

Copyright Kay Winter

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They drive with their horns
and thudding hooves
against the dry ground
raising dust that I am the shadow against.
Above the running
I am with the wind
in flight
the canyon.

@copyright Kay Winter

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For One Day

For one day
do not toss the net.

Look for nothing
lost on the ground,
nothing in secret folds
in the back of a book,
or waiting on a table.

Remember nothing.
Plan nothing.
Forget the list and calendar and clock.

Do not look at the sky
through the kitchen window
before you go.

If it rains, be wet.

For one day,
do not toss the net.

– Copyright Kay Winter

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I want to leave by a back door
left absently open
and cut across the neighbors’ lawns
to an unfamiliar alley
to the small green door
left unlocked.

I want to leave
and walk before dawn
and waken from my walking
on a strange path
in a fog dense enough
to pull a cape from.
Dense enough
to muffle the sea below
and the cries of an unknown herd
on the hillside.

I want no bearings,
no water soundings,
no compasses or coordinates.

I want the map lost,
the watch, the clock, the calendar
left long ago
in a distant house.

I want the night road,
the distant side of the mountain,
the unmarked crossroad.

I want to walk
in the gathered turnings
that ripple through
my fingertips.

I want
to hear the spirals
of the earth.

– Copyright Kay Winter

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Collage Poem: Black and White

Black and white collage

The web drops its weight
behind the horizon of the clock.

Time and the numbers shimmer
in the pagoda of dreams.

Behind the screens,
the silver torches of memory and tasks
burn like crowns
won and lost.

Diamonds and all the words
fall sideways
and reshine
as stars.

The white garden moon
above reflects in each of our
deep black sea hearts
pulling our islands
our flowers
our pale flying gulls
out of our tides.

– Copyright Kay Winter

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Only you were the secret, small light
hidden behind the fallen dark.

We remain still, waiting,
thousands of years forward in time,
inside books
(languages we no longer speak),
turned beads,
cavernous desperations:
trading mystery
for tipped empty cups
and folded cloths
for coffins.

Copyright Kay Winter

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