Friday, October 10, 2014


It meant an island where the rabbits ran.
No island anymore, no bunnies.  No wolves
to eat them.
                             I listened with my eyes
to the words of your journey
on the silent glossophone,

it rang around me, dark as I was,
                                                          the spurs
of words caught in my trouser cuffs.
I am far
                   away in place but in spirit a pine tree
nearby lets a single clench of needles on my table,
here, I’m writing around it,
                                                            four needle fingers
on one hand,
                             I spread out and count them to make sure.