AN AIR IN MIGHT MARSHES
January 28, 2017
The word on the street was repeatable.
That was then. Y’know, now not so agreeable.
That word, that gist in senseless sentences, that word
It just must be ignored.
The sleepy air slipping right through the reeds there,
The night marshes where nightmares Stay as seeds there.
The song, that mist of music meant to soothe, yes, songs
That must not be ignored.
Upon a pond
Where big calm mists meet surfaces
Water bug clouds dance down aways
And I stand to see through tree trances
This moon is broken enough to lend to substance
For near and far bearings, distances,
And at first. existences.
I swear here’s where the strings swell in
(2 YRS BACK)