I walked all-wondering at dust
(where had it breathed?) and block
buildings thrusting near, amassed
monolithic with the flock
Of broken rows – headstones
sown long ago, some dragon's teeth
awaiting Armageddon –
reminding me that even earth
has a last war: such peace
in such uneasy memory.
No voices rattled through the cemetery:
no brittle sound relieved the writing of disease
wasting abundant bone,
breaking mens teeth on silent syllables. I read its
undertone, and watched my own
breath spelling mist.
I have loved poetry as long as I remember. Some of my own have appeared (or are forthcoming) in Anima Poetry Journal, Atavic Poetry, Hedgerow Small Poems, and the Indiana Voice Journal.