each of these years
piled upon the last
and upon the rest
lain below, compressed
in rusted-spade shovelfuls
of cheek salt and bone dust
shifting downward
fallen ‘tween the May-soil’s stones
a kiss, bestowed
upon memory’s torn-corner sepia
as each June love, passed by–
falling further into the flatness
a slow-spiral flutter
nearly imperceptible
tho known too well
shrinking away
from brevity’s tall-sky reminder
as her white-skin hunger
feeds at the graves
and at the cradles
never sated
time, she is a temptress
loved, as is a mistress
the supreme huntress
and the most poignant
tho– the sum of a life
that, which she’s left us
to muse
is less– than its

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s