Wednesday 5 June 2013

Charcoal



last                   
                                bare                      tree
   of
      spring,               it                 seems
          like,              in             that
           motorway-         adjacent    
              field;  its  scrawny               limbs
                  upreaching,                   in
                    echo   of                  a
                   clutching         bunch
                    of          cave-
                    wall dancers,
                  which    a
                distantly
              ancestral
            twig, perhaps,
           was once employed  to draw. 




No comments:

Post a Comment