A chunk of death

spins beside me

on dried mud, jagged

like an amputated arm,

like a puzzle piece

from all the days as children

we sat around a table

in a snowbound house

trying to understand

the thousand ways

sunlight fits a tree.


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By | 2013-12-18T02:07:27+00:00 December 27th, 2011|Last Lambs|0 Comments