Sunday, 28. October 2007
What Is Found In Forgotten Pockets
When he takes out a crumpled jacket
And shakes the dust off its back by
trashing it against a wall, he hears
The sound of it, the mountain river
By whose shore he had picked up
Three pebbles of rounded shale.
Two he gave to Adrienne for safe Keeping - his stone burnt, hers' snow. The third remained here forgotten, Indeterminate in color, like the love child They planned to have but now will not.
My Poems
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