Monday, 29. September 2003
Fall
It is fall again,
And old wounds are laid bare.
The cold epidermis flaps against
Bones, a rag toy leaking wool.
Crisp leaves bury the sundials And nights lengthen across the meridians. I wake before light again, Clutching to my bony chest, the sum Of things, between us, left unsaid and undone.
My Poems