Thursday, November 19, 2009

Here in this mountain town

Here in this mountain town
I think of you still, filling
shaky cups with milk

clearing the table
interrupted by voices
of owls & children

south wind on my face
rain bringer, one who rips
early flowers like sent letters

This wasn't your destination
blue starred hyacinth
above you, little daughter

(no, never sent out, one of the miscarriage poems)


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