Nocturne (Fall 1983)
Tall weeds block
the view. Remove
sound from sight,
the guitar becomes
kindling. I stretch
my hands toward
the burning wood,
hearing the echo
and the woman.
This first appeared here in November 2015.
O at the Edges
Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.
O at the Edges 
Conjures remorse … taken either literally or metaphorically.
Dates make intriguing tags … what might have been kindling in my 1983 world? (Before I began writing, so no traces to reconnect!)
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I so seldom wrote about myself back then that the surviving poetry offers little clue. At least not directly. 🙂
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burning love…it does, sometimes (both positively and negatively) (K)
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Oh, yes. In many ways.
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So mysterious! And so very beautiful, Bob!
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Thank you, Lynne! Fingers crossed that my book arrives today!
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Yes! Mine too!
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Beautiful Robert! Love the stings becoming kindling!
dwight
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Thanks, Dwight!
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Poignant and powerfully reflective
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Thank you, Derrick.
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