cocoon

Inside the fine spun threads
is what will come:
beautiful wings,
gleaming reds, yellows, blues,
curves and strength,
the freedom of flight
instead of plodding,
gnawing eating. Continue reading

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inevitable

I wish I could use
a mountain-climbing image:
it would describe the feeling
all hanging by my fingernails
over a gaping inevitability.

But I have never climbed a mountain
of any consequence; any attempt
to use a mountain-climbing image
would fall short, just as I Continue reading

Posted in aging, on poetry, On the process of Writing, Poetry, river poems, scapes, thoughts below ground | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Westerly

Memory can grow a shell
around the most delicate flower:
the cottage that was for so long
a place for children to discover
the scent of grass, the kiss of leaves,
the lyrics of water and sand and
little shells, and shape and hot Continue reading

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