A Misunderstanding
What is it to me?
Your face speaks volumes to me
as if there is more
you should say before
judging me with your deluge.
There's sanctuary
in the coming storm
though the wall is far too low
around all the graves
and the stones too bleak
even for the long time dead.
They may rise up in
the latest reveal
only to be knocked back down
in the coming flood.
As for me, I change
on the wind that now rises
and like thistle down
among old razors
I shall slip past your beacons
into the damp scent
of this late fall blow.
July 2, 2015 1:38 PM
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The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.