Equinox At twilight fish sleep suspended — a cut glass bowl once held roses against mid-winter sun; dust defines a narrow hall, shadows slope down hardwood, half awake awaiting, darkness slips over the city, fog creeps hides stars, doorways disappear, misty streets slide, empty alleys, a cat cries, a door slams. Silence …
Author: Richard Stuecker
Richard Stuecker is a student at the Bluegrass Writer’s Studio MFA program at Eastern Kentucky University. His poems have appeared, Main Street Rag and District Lit.