Poem 1979 (5)

 

So

 

This woven blood
its falling tremor
a veiled melody
that breaks
across impalpable shores
pressed
through deep soil
chafed by an irate plough
while heckling crows
settle on the pointed wood.

Then a message may come
scorning our rules
and we will pretend
to have understood.

So legends are made breath
in careless certainty
in wrinkled stone.

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