Yesterday your orchid flowers returned
from their long inwardness
the same flock of nine
drifting out over the lake
of the old table they seem
to be peering out
to the other side of an abyss
to the oak rocking chair
ruined by being improved
perhaps or possibly further
to the iris outside in the
returning cold how its
gesture is a sketch of us
in our early days.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment