status.poem 3/2010

my feet are little foxes -
fleet and fretting
through a tinder-dry forest

- setting brushfires with their tails

....................
ca. March 2010

Void.

And as you crawl towards sleep
do you see her?

Do you see her waiting at the border
of unconsciousness, unbeing?

She'll call your name one day,
bend over your bier
and kiss you unwake.
....................

March 2012