that old crow,
perhaps he spoke first
with you
*
removing the clothes
from my thoughts—someone
left the gate open
*
out the window
I see only where the cottonwood
does not stand
*
dew on my song
have I really been singing
this long?
August 31, 2013 by Rosemerry
that old crow,
perhaps he spoke first
with you
*
removing the clothes
from my thoughts—someone
left the gate open
*
out the window
I see only where the cottonwood
does not stand
*
dew on my song
have I really been singing
this long?
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged absence, continuing, poem, poetry, presence | 1 Comment
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The cottonwood is speaks so well of an ancient absence, but that dew, very unexpected.