Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Thursday, November 15, 2018

Sonnet #270

The line between nature and man is easy
There is a trail along the ground and mowers
Come to clear the path, but tractors
Don’t travel into trees, so there, a line you see

It follows us home if we let it, where the line
could be anywhere, hidden behind a fence
In empty flower pots where anything's presence
Is allowed - spiders and ants and weeds, it's fine

Let the line fall over the night sheets, where dreams
and possibilities wrestle in the dark, wild places
kept and unkempt, a hidden shadow kingdom
where the eyes look out from darkness, faces
unknown by even us, carry this unknown seams
loosely in the daylight, be vessels for feral graces

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