Sunday, January 19, 2014

Likeness



Likeness

Fog... ice-puffs and fake snow.
You are a sage-desert guest,
no in-focus overview
or midnight hot cocoa.
Your rustic-yellow farmhouse,
scrubbed-out bloodstains
from a quarter century ago,
is little more than dream-graphite.
The Wolfhound puppy carries
her own sunlight, steals cheeseburgers,
is not bubbly-for-poetry... not yet, no.
The puppy and you... mosaic figures
a-stumble between fence line
juniper and poplar: the frozen
ground is ghost-ice slick...
with heaven invisible.



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