Saturday, November 1, 2014

Marthe Reed


remorse or fossil
neither ||
we imagine a wing

or a calendar
of each       a crown
the paired intricacies of fins

grief already
counting the rings
trees like

depth of field
in a Chinese painting
a stone

affords infinity ||
in the measure’s gap
a horde of hidden bones

weights these
a blank white sphere
replicating meadow

we abandon our fingerprints amid the letters

© Marthe Reed


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