Four Poems

Summer

These are our thicket days
and it does seem darker,

though the sun is at its peak
over the crown of leaves.

Having climbed at last to the tasket dais
we demand better titles

to make up for the weight we carry,
and all we have achieved.

This is a thicket,
not a casket,
and one day we’ll walk out;

ears ringing,
flask empty,
a drought in the mouth.


Ophthalmoscope

Technically, it is the light
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