These are the days when nothing
stays long in our blood. Our hopes
are red rivers that run
into the heart
and die there.
Forgive me if I
wave even if you’re gone. In
our bodies
more is hidden than found. What light
defines this afternoon over the fields
and your eyes?
Tree rings; crow
feet. Red
rivers’ ending. Inside
and outside, vast
distances lie,
unexplored; a single life. The period
after this sentence is
a landmine.
Clod & Pebble 