Monday, April 30, 2018

James Walton #97 A gleam in resolution

late, late evening

I’ve cleaned the trough
of branches and leaves

up to my elbows
the soot of lived things

fresh water hisses
dances a spilled travel

horses prance over
curious as the way of cats

I turn around

let them drink of nonchalance
a colt snuzzles my neck

places a chin on my shoulder
reaching an arm back

scratching his cheekbone
watching the red moon winking rise

one lateral to the setting sun
each of us thinking

on this day that was


  1. make mine a beaker of devil-may-care

    1. I almost called my current work 'This' and this poem reminds me of this, if you will excuse the puns. An elegant work.


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