Phil Vernon

 

 

 

Fin

The first bars are the seeds
from which the music grows,
but even the music’s surprised
when it flowers; by what it knows.

The first snow lands; each further
flake that falls is laid
on the flake before, and turns
the world to white and shade:

a land that makes no claim
on you, nor yields to yours;
a shape without a name,
without an end or cause.

It’s quiet, suddenly,
and the flower has set no seed.
 

 

 

Phil Vernon’s poems have appeared in magazines, journals and websites. A micro-collection, This Quieter Shore, was published by Hedgehog in 2019, and a full collection Poetry After Auschwitz is forthcoming from Sentinel www.philvernon.net/category/poetry.

Comments are closed.