I begin again
the same cards
another house
My feet of clay
tucked away
in boots of Spanish leather
At the dam
sheep drinking
their reflections
Each wave
ever so slowly
wears the rock
Dust devils
dance in the distance
Darker each day
Long days
I drift toward
no particular port
After last jobs
I sit and watch
the stars brighten
Turning a rock
what's usually hidden
isn't
Down a long road
in an old car
trailing dust
The shovel handles first splinter
Along the path
the wind
takes my tracks
My old skins
become rags
get thrown away
The rut I run
because I need
the money
Along the river
a motor mutters
into silence
Lovely. Have really enjoyed going through and back through your P boards. The soul and spirit of a poet and artist.
ReplyDeleteThank you. I value your comments.
ReplyDeleteI have been looking at your lovely jewelry. It must be very satisfying to work creatively with such beautiful materials.