This poem is taken from Stand 243, 22(3) September - November 2024.
Three Poems
Crow, Dead
and on our way we came upon the tree
felled by strong winds that howled the night before;
its branches rose as damaged filigree –
barred us, this woven gate without a door,
and standing there, our journey stopped, we see
the remnants of a sudden death, black gore
...
and on our way we came upon the tree
felled by strong winds that howled the night before;
its branches rose as damaged filigree –
barred us, this woven gate without a door,
and standing there, our journey stopped, we see
the remnants of a sudden death, black gore
...
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