Wednesday, December 20, 2017

Maybe the poem can be

the prints skittering across the snow-skinned yard

and the wondering about the small body who produced them

The melting artifact with the teeming forest breathing in its ear

2 comments

  1. Very ethereal and lovely. Thank you. It brought a breath of peace to me this morning.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you for this kind comment, and for reading!

      Delete

The Storialist. All rights reserved. © Maira Gall.