Category: Poetry
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Encircling It are many a shoot and stalk/ Conifers, laden, pining for the light of Daystar/ Lend resiny incense to the breeze and chalk/ Up their offspring to winds blowing from afar.
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The longing for to share her name, It bited at her core, So heaving up her spirit’s sigh, she stumbled through the door.
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So I will wipe the tarnish from my silver spoon, And dig a hole, one spoonful at a time Into the dead earth. I will make a grave for broken things.
The Locus 