Sunday, June 12, 2011

Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011

With The Wind Of Them

The dead are quiet, wait like ice,
melt slowly into memories,
cottoning the cold room
with the wind of them.

1 comment:

Ken said...


I really like this spare piece. The language in the third line is so stunning with its cotton for cold. The poem resides entirely in the intended milieu. Haunting.

Ken Rodgers