Large sea turtles and some whales
will outlive us, water a manifestation of wind in
another dimension.
I had to use the shovel to hack at the wood, had to grab
a hatchet, down deep in the hole. The oak pitched around
like a ship’s mast, or I was no longer alive; perhaps I was yet
to be
all over again, though I kept recalling your name. The verdurous
roots.
No comments:
Post a Comment
If you include links in your comment the whole comment will likely be deleted as spam. You have been warned! Otherwise, dialoguing with these poems is encouraged.