A Passing Year

I can hear
You listening,
Absorbed,
Vanishing.

Our colours
Become
Completed,
Shadows

Following
Each contentment,
Desire,
Wishes.

So come now,
Kiss the lip
Of the moment,
Focus

And flat-line
All our
Decembers
All our

Loved
New Years
To the hand
Keats reached out

And said:
Touch...

John Cornwall

If you have any comments on his poems, John Cornwall would be pleased to hear from you.