On Ilam Road
One rest-home is
distinguished from
all others by
a perfect tree,
winter-bared
And I am walking
at night. The moon
a finger bone
cross-section
phosphorescing.
Impatient to
be home and warm, still
for eight steps I watch
a hundred bark
fingers intertwine.
Posted in Poems

August 20th, 2008 at 5:09 pm
Your poetry is beautifully descriptive. You are quite talented.