The Earth and Earth

A look back.

Working the wet earth,

bonded by standing water.

As expected, I do not find ghosts,

but a layer of small stones and pieces of black root.

A cracked pathway.Cats still.

My neighbour thrashes in the bushes,

looking for a son called Son.

The afternoon has stopped itself.

A window open, curtains alive.

Why is Vivaldi so inhuman ?

 

Reviews

[patricia]

working in the river, with my sieve pan, i found a few gold nuggets this afternoon...this was one of them! Thankyou.

[Maria.F.T]

I do love the style of this poem...

[Emily B]

the journey starts in words very much like those of Robert Frost. . . and then it builds and grows and travels to places that I suspect he never imagined