another poem from voices

September 6, 2008 at 3:35 am Leave a comment




duck calling over overgrown lake

the thought of you:

red satin: i turn away:

i make no sign, no outer sign

though i wish

a word, a cry, a gesture…

something to express


sound in silence, water

in a dessicated land

(sunsummered sere): tans, and greys,

and the flash of that duck, you

the call of that gull, you…


and there is nothing to do.

this one bright moment (sharp as an errant flash from

shattered glass, stabbing

‘midst the concrete)…meaning?

I sigh, i sit. There is nothing to do.



Entry filed under: poetry. Tags: , , .

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