Thursday, April 07, 2005

Poem: The Coming Night

What shifting, what scuddling,
peeping, muffle sounded and
slow doom--
These rats inside the walls,

hungry like winds and eroding us
to silent and pale sepulchre
dwellers in the coming night.

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Somewhere Beyond the Wheel

A Haibun The sound of the hawk’s talons as they click against the cement floor is sharp and crisp. The raptor moves carefully, head duc...