which
is
which
my hand
your heart
*
last year’s snow
rushes through
the valley—
some lonelinesses
can not be quenched
*
what is
the one
that notices
the one who thinks
she feels lonely?
*
in my pages
rubbing an arnica leaf
out of the blank
appears
a heart of graphite
*
in a red wagon
the old man
pulls to the grave
his mother
her ashes
*
I refuse
to see it
as a problem
loving
you
Four and five are my favorite blurs, but I also like the color transition between them. The “heart of graphite” and the “old” man with his mother in tow. Nice.
grey heart, grey ashes, anon?
love the circular bookends of first and last stanzas. and the thread of aching loneliness—like last year’s snowfall, now melted and running further away downstream. but, oh, there’s triumph in that closing stanza.