At all

I, in a viridian sleep, confess to all
that assails me at dawn.
Furry thoughts leak their way
deep into the trust my eyes
can see any given moment.
I confess again, to mockery
and a flailing focus falling deep
in the depth of who knows.

So who am I to dare
the night to dispel its smoky garment
and wave with one tree rustling
into a dark see saw sea?
Who am I to argue
the continuous overlap
of that which shapes
the coming all days.




Poetry by Bob
Read 658 times
Written on 2008-03-16 at 22:48

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Kathy Lockhart
what a wonder of words written and poetically posed that I see without any eyes days and nights skies of repose with which I can do nothing but suppose I will just let them be.
2008-03-17