Monday, July 11, 2022

(For You)

Today you left
the trapped
sense of playing
your part to
the history books
Paid little attention
Left the things
that the artist sketched
on canvas
the sunrise
breaking into puddles
you saw
the arc of it
Even now
with the poem getting 
smaller
through
it’s minor deletions
you still see 
what is just leaving
leaving and 
what is just left



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Ah, Sincerely

  At last it is self evident  There is nothing to put down But the clouds moving overhead  The dead stare into the black Spoiled and unmoved...