just back from the walk poem, first draft by pd lyons


 

a painted picture

left out before the snow

the wind blows through it

an old sheet of organic plastic

caught on

torn on

hard   wire

a post of whiskers greyer than the stone which holds it

loos ends going no where on each side

cattle long ago

bones softened

no memory even earths recalls them now

hard ground

brown ground

no trail to keep you from getting lost

no place really left to get lost

incline

something shadowy even though its sunlight

fingering illuminating

another afternoon

good fortune

among the winter

 

 

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