Monday, March 12, 2012

temperamental weather

in my dream
like Alma i was
shot and again

and again
one true bullet hit

you took me down my
bairn my little bairn
yellow haired and all
you took me down

you, visiting
the horse's grave
you took me down

you and the grandfather's
clock
you took me down

the dregs in
your teacup there on the desk
they take me down

you think me healthy
and natural

milk-glass or bees' wax

or good steady light

i think me
temperamental weather

1 comment:

String Trees said...

this, and your last poem, actually all your recent work, are so very lyrical. from what i'm told, the most primary goal of poets has been to sound like a song. you succeed and then some

Blog Archive