you are an old man or any age
and life is the iced-over pond
you're standing on, spring
winking darkly nearby;
and you're holding
high a dandelion, past
its prime, blowing doomed
canopied seeds
into the firestorm
that's taken over
the shore like nothing
you've ever seen before.
1 comment:
Among my favourites. A dark poem for me. Powerful and coherent use of imagery here.
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