Friday, December 30, 2016

Lizz Murphy - Poem 364.2: Monochrome


Just a week ago the land was a wrung out cloth streaked gold through the olive damp This week it is a bleached sheet heads of wheaten grass shimmering champagne and silver with each breeze I have only just left the ghost of winter behind Everything is opposite

a guitar shaped leaf
a bird raising its wings
its downy underside
its second cast shadow
the ghost of winter


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