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HOODWINKER 

 

No wife, no mother, so I hoodwinked my son,

a damaged kid. I wore grayish talons and

 

the penalties have grown stiff—no balms and

only wisps of grassiness sewn into dreams.

 

Woo Woo sings Joni, thin and high. Drifts

curve behind the boat-house and one cedar

 

hangs like a falling axe over the snow. I took

him up, led him on, and left him in a white

 

metal crib. But there was no thicket, no ram,

so I was the trickster. Was it my voice? Was

 

there no chapel for prayer? The seasons go

round and round and O, it weights me—

 

I led the way. May I investigate miraculous

repentances? May I forgive myself?

HOODWINKER by Thomas R. Moore | Sandalwood Poetry Reed Diffuser

20,00 US$Precio
Cantidad

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