The day growing colder under
A thin layer of winter sky
A little blue
With the crows
Bragging immensely in the trees
The evening spits up the moon
Like a wet seed
I come home
With my fishing rod and two perch
Wrapped in newspaper
I’m thirsty
But I can wait
The ivy is still green
And dark in the dusk
Like some creature’s fur
Fringing the branches and the pole
The old hermit gleams in my eyes
For a minute
Greedy and cold
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Published in the 2011-05-20 issue: View Contents
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Pagan & Christian
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