Friday, August 14, 2015

Permafrost



Do I have to tell
all, reveal every crack
in the cosmic egg?
Do we not find peace
in between the toes of stones
laid to rest askew?

I would scratch your itch
if you would tell me the truth
of your windblown hair.
I would sing with you
as we traverse the rubble,
the rough ice bound ground.

‎January ‎24, ‎2011 4:41 PM

1 comment:

  1. I like this one Chris, no poem from me though

    ReplyDelete

The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.


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