a poet’s notebook

august 21 (an old poem)

you write

that you are ill
feverish

in some narrow
foreign bed
tangled

in dim
damp sheets
sun steaming

through a dingy
window
and I hope

that you are not
entangled so
alone

what cannot
be held must be
freely given

    shell

 

One response to “august 21 (an old poem)”

  1. Anne Avatar

    lovely… if only i could weave emotions into words half as well.

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