Stranger

It’s time, or bad threads
ringing, no answer–
How did you know?

There’s a sequence
of blunt coping, chipping
through the bark, not

to find pulp, but to recall
there’s not just hollow
bodies. Burnt lime waters,

her fingers some tantalizing petal
to rub against cheek, or sand,
closed eyes: specters of us…

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