A Cargo of Green Hearts
~POEMS~
my voice
grows slim in the slim seasons; all the echoes have died away and the loneliness of the world is exposed for what it is. someone is whittling a stick down to nothing; the geese and cowards, all fly south. I prepare to make a bed of ice, to sleep alone, the way we will die. it is strange to me, Durga how now, more so than in summer (which stands on top of the world and sings with all its birds at once) I feel the roots of your fingers most tenderly knotted in my heart. Comments are closed.
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Poetry LogPoems are posted here when I'm ready to share them. I often don't title my poems. The date you see above the poem may be the date it was posted here and not necessarily the date it was created. To see more, click on the Archives below. Archives
January 2020
CategoriesUnless otherwise noted, all content ©Paul-William Gagnon, Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-NoDerivs license.
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