The Draft
All memories ignite, he says, recalling
the odor of accelerants and charred
friends. Yesterday I walked to the sea
and looking into its deep crush
sensed something unseen washing
out, between tides and a shell-cut foot,
sand and the gull’s drift, or the early names
I assign to faces. This is not sadness.
Somewhere the called numbers meet.
* * *
“The Draft” first appeared in Taos Journal of International Poetry & Art.
I like this very much.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks, Liz. One of my more successful recordings, I think.
LikeLiked by 3 people
You’re welcome, Bob.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Yes, works well as a recording.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks, Frank.
LikeLike