In November, the hours are slower;
winding down weather, the fresh lather
of a first snow. The winter,
with its months of hospital afternoons
waits huddled just over the border.
And ice will make all the distances
that much further. Speak now, kiss now
before the river freezes altogether.
Troy Jollimore
Knock knock.
Forgive the late reply. And thank you for recommending this. It’s one of the more evocative poems I’ve read: such rich images captured in so few words. Do you think it has meanings hidden under the surface? What goes through my mind as I read it, is the passage of time. “Without love, life is just a clock, ticking.”
Thoughts?
I read it quite literally as a “carpe diem” sort of message. But more fatalistic than others, I daresay.