holding air when
wind encircles hooded
face in blinding embrace
bare footprints in
the snow shuffle over
road that knew of black
and black is still
a metal box on post
rendering afternoon post
box mouth yawns
and upchucks three
slips of tree upchucks
scuttle back to
door ajar in white
head to flow aground
behind a door
with post in hand
wrinkled raised brow
No comments:
Post a Comment