Thursday, September 4, 2014

Poem: Glade Alone

Originally published in Pyrokinection.

Best to all,



Glade Alone

lost snowflakes
walk a graveyard
of marbled spruce.

this kind of death,
unmarked and pure,
never reaches the metros.

when solitude
is your mortician
something has gone right.

when your priest is frost,
and only the moon


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