Friday, August 20, 2021

Brother

I hear a crow, think,

“Carrion.”  Have to

reconsider that which

feeds is not always

from a cornucopia.

Inherently I think some-

thing dead nearby;

inherently I feel my 

eyes narrow to see.

I know what feeds 

does not always appeal

to me and for an instant

I see me circling.


-Byron Hoot

http://hootnhowlpoetry.com/

No comments:

Post a Comment

Just Before

  I feel sigh after sigh arising,   moving in a slow spring breeze that will not let them leave, caught in a crosswind that makes now feel l...