Maybe
The heart wanders, the eyes climb
aboard, your hips cast off ropes,
and the hands ride waves in tow.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
number 62
Dad's Lullaby
A murder of crows scraw, cry,
sing a song in these woods of
my father's deep loneliness.
A murder of crows scraw, cry,
sing a song in these woods of
my father's deep loneliness.
Monday, January 7, 2008
number 61
New Moon
Every star hung from leafless
trees, words dangled from frosty
breaths we let go of, walking.
Every star hung from leafless
trees, words dangled from frosty
breaths we let go of, walking.
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