« Back to posts

The Shank of the Day

- by Linn Barnes

The Shank of the Day

-Linn Barnes

At the shank of the day,

with the sun burning down,

with the winds standing dead still, 

with the measure of time suspended

in the vast furnace of late summer, where

even the crows are quiet and the vultures don't fly.

Now, even music loses the drive to be

heard and the strings protest 

the hands of the player, 

wilted and dripping,

unwilling to add even one more 

measure to this late summer mix.

And while it is not exactly sadness,

but rather a portrait of soggy melancholy

which, troubling as it may be,

rattles not the hidden hive of the heart,

while we sit motionless beneath a dying oak

and watch the leaves begin to fall unchallenged 

to the waiting and bone dry earth below.