I think (sometimes) time
does work backwards;
jigsaw-puzzling,
fragment-spinning
unlikelihoods, vase shards
self-assembling ,
plastering smiles,
erasing facial scars.
Stands as never-ever-was,
palmed happenstance,
three Norns looking
for missing pieces
under a sofa,
scandalously dirty there,
lovers kissing under a moon.
Poetry does it all the time,
routinely performing miracles;
but why (do fools fall in love)
and why, we ask ...
but sleep for answers,
one day may
deceive into
fulfillment.
...........................
W.C.W. The Poem as a Field of Action. 'We’re not putting the rose, the single rose, in the little glass vase in the window—we’re digging a hole for the tree—and as we dig have disappeared in it.'
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Winter Trails
PoetryWinter Trails is an album of my poems, journeying through late fall when the wire of the trees begins to dominate, till the end of January. After promoting it and it soaring to three quarter million reads, Wattpad unceremoniously dumped it. Here it...
