repository
this now is my driftwood:
the stay-put roots, legs
of them that's been
twisted, suspended above
the lowering level of the river-
fed pond. What's gone blond.
what's gone common
gray and water that's new
enough to such bare oracle
roots it not only falls down
in awe but looks up in awe
at the blackening under-
neath (what's hid from me)
but keeps me leaning
into my knees between
the pinching splinter
in the rail, insisting,
embedding.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thank you for your comments