“But if the birds and flowers had tried me by their standard, I should not have been found wanting.”
Infinite: A Poem
He’s up at the first sights
Of dawn’s tinted rose
And already there is fire
In his gleaming eyes.
A poem
—
The rose you hand to me
Takes breath even from those
Who claim authority over
Careless tricks of fondness
Content
Now the rain beats patterns undiscernible
Upon lips whose beginnings and endings
Are just as vague and full of longing.
A Poem.
Isn’t it Lovely to Think So?
Strawberry creeps across your lips
And the crescent moon they hide
.
See More Glass: A Tribute Poem to J.D. Salinger
There are no mirrors
In this meager cabin by the water.
The lake, I guess