PORTENT


From my head, in my hand,
a hair half gray, half brown,
past the color of a rising sun,
more silver of a moon come round.

On its scale, a line so fine,
the measure of a youth now spent;
time moves on from brown to gray,
leaving shadows where it went.


March 1987





All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
Contact Bill Schechter