Poems from ddiagne
Sing the isle, that, veiled
beckons gently neath
the stagnant haze of June’s inferno
and loudly, like the sound waves beat
upon the...
It was a silent thing. Only the breeze spoke.
Whatever lives below the ground moves in half time
feeling around dark sleeping worlds...
Woodpeckers scoured the tree, leaving
wounds in straight lines. The tree lamented
not out or in. Eternal numbness
of the unmoving – this...
Oh shepherd of three-odd billion years
bring 3’oclock coffee for its paragon
For the light slants at an angle at this hour
it is...