Thursday, 6 March 2014

Resurface

 
The ground too hard to bury their dead,
The battered men outlive the long winter,
Content, on one hand. Somehow life
Was meant to endure, to sustain the little breath
It had infused here, centuries ago,
Seemingly by an unfortunate case
Of circumstances.
 

The Spinner

  Here I was, am, shall be, tending the tree I planted, by the well I built, with water from my hands. The clay under my fingernails that wo...