The Edge of Bloom
Almost, at this moment:
no matter how feeble the light
upon the trees,
despite this night benumbed,
there are buds that tiptoe
at the pinnacle of jagged cliffs,
careening
at the edge
of bloom —
this miracle,
this dance of beauty
cannot be halted,
cannot be restrained.
by D. G. Vachal © 2013
*** Image by Wikimedia Commons
The Sound of Snow
Lace and flannel fall
on February ground,
like flocks of woolen lambs
huddled
upon the leafless hills—
Tell me,
can you hear the sound of snow,
catch the tranquil meekness
quite unlike
the clamor of rain
or the tumult of sleet,
horse hoofs that trample
the cobblestones —
garments with diamonds
descend,
clothe the naked branches,
there are no echoes
from their voiceless song,
no footsteps
to their elegant
dance.
by D. G. Vachal © 2013
*** Photography: Winter Trees by T. Frarug
Porcelain Morning
Kinder still the porcelain morning:
kaolin clay
baked in the kiln of the evening
sun, cleansed
of the dross of darkness,
translucent resonance,
impermeable
white.
Pink peonies await
and the glossy leaves —
choose your colors,
paint
with care.
by D. G. Vachal © 2013
*** image by TTor
The Years, My Friend
The years, my friend, have not been kind
upon your marble face, I hear the river songs
tinkle with the cymbals,
your eyes are shriveled grapes upon the vine,
your mouth a wounded cherry,
pecked reddish-grey
by restless robins.
Take my hand, my friend,
let us go to the calling fields that blaze with diamonds
under the eternal skies,
to the orchards in the midst of these winter days,
where leafless branches stand dauntless
in the endless cold, with jubilant tales to tell
in the blizzard of their days —
harken to the legends
of the root and the bud and the sun,
and the promise
(believe the promise)
that warmth and springtime
will come,
(it always comes)
once again.
by D. G. Vachal © 2013
*** Photography by Farhad
lilies, sparrows and grass 
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