possibly played a role in his diminishing.
I don’t know what might do it for me.
Nothing so far is up to the task of
undoing my works. My progeny
cling like burdocks to the curving
surface of the world; my feet coming
loose, I cling by my nails;
my knees could only wobble away.
I lay down, a memory of beginning
in a story I can’t remember
the stance I once had, where
I stood is gone and
not left a mark.
No comments:
Post a Comment