by | Sep 20, 2008 | Poetry | 0 comments

Even from here
There is a line
Beyond which I cannot see
There are caves
In forested hills
Where no one waits
A cry
Across the lake
That will never come

The line fades
Yet stays
By the end of it all
In a depression
Moss houses
Carry silence
Ferns lean
At the grave of the tree
The raven bows
And does not move his wings


Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *