Thursday, December 23, 2004

Morning Jog

Running through the morning mist
By the frost so tender kissed
Flit by dew-sparkled letter boxes
To the tick of pocket-watches
Till with ragged breath arrive
And implode on the front lawn
Ready for another day.

No comments:

Fatherhood

 I am carrying the torch you Handed me Not handed. Placed Carefully This is sacred space. Was the carrying so heavy for you as well? Were yo...