Ice sky turns, the wind
sows thistles in the frost.
Swirling dust dances on rind,
the everyday light, lost.
Abandoned streets without Sunday,
oscillating memories like fragments,
turn like newspapers,
blown about in an alleyway.
Winter’s crape keeps the morning dark,
spring pulls it down with force.
Rain and hail washes the tree bark,
lends a sparkle to the smiling gorse.
First morning light above fog
sheds its skin to make space, a new day,
glides over bog,
blows grass tussocks away,
matting the gardens, the fur of the stray dogs.
The wind grooms the dandelion,
colouring wayfarer’s path yellow,
showing the road to the scion
of past winters, leading to springs,
Edward Schmidt-Zorner was born in Germany. He has lived in County Kerry, Ireland, for more than 25 years and is an Irish citizen. He is fluent in German, English, French, Spanish and basic Russian. He is a freelance artist, translator and member of five writing groups in Ireland.