You, the Potted Plant and Me

by on April 4, 2016 :: 0 comments

What tree
what pebble
what peak

what lake what silvered

what fleck of ash, what potted plant.

These things move with me
through time
and remind me of my death.

What morning
what noon
what coming of age what dusk
what seasons of fields of fleece.

All these things time keeps—
what fragile light, what timeless sleep.

– Curtis Emery

editors note:

What? What! – mh clay

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