No Sign of Getting Much Better. But Good Luck to You & India

I clutch the hazel eyes of my father

in my sleep dreaming of walking

the tracks with my father’s lantern

looking for bodies

of deer & windblown derby hats from town

& the entirely underlined book

from the night before on my mind

 

the aureate nature of my telling

 

brutal grace follows realism

 

the transcended field I will tell you of later

my only one we were born in the same place & now lie down

 

what in the dark is essential?

I’ll be that

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s