Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Getting On

Getting On

i saw Grandfathers face on the
cave mouth, coulda used a shave.
as we clumb, sky did, in blues gradient
as my home screen, sheer yellow
lambs fleece formed meringue peaks.
i saw my own profile in some cirrus
beneath, the details so exact, i couldnt
tell what she was thinking.

white sun spilled onto the western hills like
Gold Medal flour from a gunny sack
Grandmother could mix in the morning.
Brothers smile a bear had scratched
into the shrinking poplars siding,
marked summers grave.

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