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 