17 Sunday Mar 2019
Posted in poems
The years came on in leaps of space and gasps of air.
Trail marks rushed by or passed in the dark.
There were so many words, weapons really.
Now I take small steps with a cane.
Days are feathers and breath is frost.
The path closes in from behind.
Toothless words swirl the air in arcs.
RIP W. S. Merwin
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I have a poem published over at Vita Brevis – my thanks to the editors. https://vitabrevisliterature.com/
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