after May by Rufo Q
Like the day upstairs
nothing is undone --- not me, finely
pointing a nose through leafy haze
to the same thing,
undecomposed.
Morning coughed up frail
in clear light
can’t be saved.
In recent bouts of memory and dream
flowers fell and pollinated,
balanced by the swipe of life
like fighting cats on the wall
lost in the splendid flurry.
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1 comment:
OOOO! Fun, your poem and Rufo's read together. This must have come outta you like lightening, Amy, as both were posted so quick. Thanks for a great poem, both of you.
J
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