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Synthesis Collaborative
The Forge.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
As The River Runs Through It
Only a fool
walks in winter,
he hears them say.
Then only a fool
catches the loose amber city
glow, walking over the bridge at night.
An Old Poem for H.D.
Why is it we
Seek the portal
To immortality
In the charred hollow depth
Of the quiet willow tree?
It is here, brother,
In a drowsy summer breeze
Weeping for forever
The death in me.
One Afternoon in August
Two peaches
Were picked.
And plenty else,
Packed in pairs,
Prepared for her.
w.f.
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