Into overmorrow
Tomorrow's field is greennot with verticals and waves in the wind
not with buzzing and flitting
the Carboniferous wing bound
but the green heart
the kind that cannot see the meadow
sip iced tea under a chestnut tree
and dream of conkers
Tomorrow's field is green
as is today's
the green of shrinking corridors
"Well, that was nice"
bile and grapefruit
the bridge is a plank on the grass
narrow but grounded
into overmorrow
Poetry by Katarina Wikholm
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Written on 2026-07-11 at 17:29
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