white distance
there you break
in that white
(di(s)tance)
a dust
a stance
of being alone
already
old
old skin, dust is
old skin my daughter
tells me wiping the mirror
will she remember this
lace of conversation
her bones so fragile
she is ninety
i am long
dead
how he brushes against the bark
all those years of gathering
what pushed back
dream researchers explain how
we learn to change by
repetition & then floating like dust
in all the possibilities of light
how so white her skin breaks my heart;
a white madness
Richard Lance Williams
Posted over on More Poetry
No comments:
Post a Comment