There aren't cards for the dying
There aren't cards for the dying
The leaves let go now
no epitaph
Not so easy for us
We want the flocked swans
an italic verse
the hallmarked time
so gravely pocketed
It began with lists, and books, and pieces that didn't fit the flow of outside the windows. Lately it has been a safe keeping spot for poetry as well
There aren't cards for the dying
I miss them, the safe stories.
Things disappear
If we had the dominion of dust
Setting choke, pulling chain. Sweat.
Grief's not the blank screen
Goodbye. Give me back the photographs
for M.C.
1.
Cloudy day. An open window.
for Tui
Sometimes we are given maps
It is the season of new growth
The black swan out of the north came
In this place joy is our birthright.
in some long still dance of pain
Turning back like a window