Friday, March 9, 2012


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:

Paul Hoy said...

Among my favourites. A dark poem for me. Powerful and coherent use of imagery here.