Sunday, June 7, 2015


by Michael H. Brownstein

A thin lisp of fog smokes beyond the trees,
white tracks line the farm. Somewhere
someplace else is lost in the picture, the gray
photograph of winter's thaw, the nearby river
missing what makes it a river, one identifiable bird
an unidentifiable smudge on driftwood, the optimism
of beginnings, a hole in white bark.

No comments:

Post a Comment