Thursday, November 11, 2010

St. Martin of Tours (patron of France, soldiers, and horses)


I was chased ‘till my heart

grew thin. the needles in

my lungs shook like a great pine

over a slumping roof.


with just a little more weight,

the whole thing will crush

my bed, these woven wicker baskets,

the blue bottles lining all the sills.


please come back, curl up in

my ribs. I don’t even remember


what my biggest fears are.


No comments:

Post a Comment