Poem: bleu

wrinkles shift beneath tattered sand

bushy bristles curve in gentle slopes

pointed high towards the evening sky

chirps crowd the dewy air 

Mixed with the melody of a howl 

hoots pierce the clouds,

twisting and slipping between fluffy snow

like a dainty blunt needle

clicking a tat-tat briskly against its twin 

springs of fushia paint the stars

smears of a galaxy of lights dot the inky blackness of the mountains’ silhouettes

trills coat the sigh 

dropping like a wayward slip of a leaf from its guardian oak tree

plink

plunk 

deep within the senior’s breast, a cackling fire raged