from Summer 2005 [Issue No. 7]
Even my axe tries to hide
and under its rust a childless edge
exhausted in this stump, its fruit
sanded, smelling from rain and iron
—I grip the handle
to come to a stop :a finishing stroke
covered with footsteps
each deeper, deeper, the last
a cliff falling through the Earth.
I will say, It's enough! drink some water
to remind my breath to wait
let it sit by the river
and icing over my throat
the sunset sharpening my graveside
—again, It's enough!
as if a long, curved tiller
was somehow in back
All content on this site is protected by copyright laws. Unauthorized use of any material, graphic or literary, is strictly prohibited. All work © by the artists: all rights reserved.
Archives | Books We Love | Submission Guidelines | Reviews of Online Lit | Links | E-Mail