Reverberations Calling

Young silk, or skin:
the girl told me
she would never live

again, after
her brother and sisters
raised hand-dug ponds

before summer arrived:
turned to green. I can
hear the one-year-old

boy who died of fright
when the wind blew
his candle out, small eyes

jittering, failing–heart
diagnosed with darkness
and curling smoke…

Crawling—dawn breaks sky,
their infinite expressions
of degenerates, falling voices.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s