Monday, March 28, 2016

After Another


I can't stop hammering one
final nail after another

into an atmosphere where
wind is a stranger often

spoken of, but seldom to.
I want to build a memory

to hold its fleeting moods
at bay, but my vision is a

reluctant advisor in thrall
to metaphor. It cheers me on

like a threatened witness—
stick around to see these

words mean less than
they did before we knew them.

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