The hope a mooncalf follows
is sacrifice for slaughter,
and yet the wings of swallows
still skip across the water. 

The Official Website of the Leading Formalist Poet 

YouTube RSS

Starless

 

I fingered the bone, and traced
where the axe had landed,
imagining the face
of the girl, her life abandoned
by the midnight sky.
So I placed an aster
in her tiny skull
where a glimmering eye
had been, and then I asked her
to please forgive us all.
 
2010
First appeared in CounterPunch
 
 Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Share on Reddit Share on LinkedIn
© by Leo Yankevich
credit