Friday, August 28, 2009

Across a bruised horizon



Late birds flush the bush, streak
beaks across a bruised horizon.

Nightfall knows better than we
precisely what to do with itself.

Wild dogs skirl ritual like Pawnee,
their plain song sere against the sea.

Fluters hoot the winged oaks and every
mouse shadow stands its still ground.

To move now would be to
do the only human thing.

Joseph Gallo
August 6, 2009



Blogger Joseph Gallo parried...

This poem is available as a broadside ready and suitable for framing at $10 per.

Leave a comment if interested.


September 07, 2009 10:09 PM  

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