He was an old man even then,a man with hands like birdsdisrupting feathers from a nest,their…
if you look long enoughinto his eyeswhat do you see? dangermost probablya tormenting blissof a gazepassionate and endearingwhat do you see…
My hands are softer than a maiden’sSilken paddles for your caressThey always lived above ground, in clean air…
I pass by this once mottled bogWhere the bones of ancestors were dugTheir lives laid down in distant fields…