Descends
The sterile sun descends
Above the moor,
A red eye staring me down.
Encumbered deep in thought
I rudder down like a crow as
My blacks drag behind me.
Last summer’s flowers are
All engrained in icy graves.
Slushy frost touches the vent
Of my pain.
Smile
My smile fell into the garden
of vegetables. It is of no use.
I did not retrieve it like a dog -
now I look like everyone else -
think of it as a gift to be so
ordinary and following in a
footfall of echos.
I am mooing now and following
the herd. How fine it is to be
as dumb as a mirror.
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