Monday, 15. September 2003
Herd
The herd moves into the glutch
where the salt lick waits.
Their thirst is mine too. I too carry the signs of branding.
Iron pressed into leather, desire pressed against memory.
My Poems
Buoy the population of the soul
Toward their destination before they drown
~ Robert Pinsky
Toward their destination before they drown
~ Robert Pinsky
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