when poetry departs, I turn to Glass

It leaves me berefit

Of words.         it’s an emptying out

Abandonment

A poetic slur.      an illusion appears

Opening a cave’s mirror

To a mind      furrowed

Burrowing in ideas

Glass ones.        then solid relief

Hera holds a lily

Afloat a mandolin, pure notes

Drop poems like fresh milk

In my robust tea

 

 

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