Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Protea



Otherwordly
sirens to make us
insects
& yet protea
as practical
resilent as a salad
as the small poem
who feels no limits.

1 comment:

  1. (53)

    T, almost an I without the anchoring bar,
    invites the closing gesture,
    teases ineluctable light from the watching stones.

    You are you and no one else--
    unmistakably immersed in a linguistic huddle
    of your own imagination.

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